” He drew a little nearer to her. "I've counted ten coffins so far. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. I was—I was a corespondent. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets.
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