‘I am done, Gérard. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. Why do you not go away?’ ‘Yes, do go away,’ begged Gerald. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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