” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. Not then. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. ToC During the whole of the next day and night, the poor widow hovered like a ghost about the precincts of the debtors' garrison,—for admission (by the Master's express orders,) was denied her. Kneebone,—pray go!" implored Winifred. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse.
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