So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. "Perhaps. ” She looked at him quizzically. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. ToC Mrs.
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