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Mr. “Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?” he asked Anna. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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