These were seated in an imperfect semicircle about a very copper-adorned fireplace, surmounted by a carved wood inscription: “DO IT NOW. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely.
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