’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. It was neither good nor bad.
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