Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. A creeping numbness invaded her. “Come,” she said. “Ask me nothing. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. There he stands. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends.
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