“You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. ” She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull.
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