It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was.
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