In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. "Hist!" exclaimed Jack. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. She is extremely lovely, but for her to have borne the name of the Blessed Virgin would have been nothing short of sacrilege.
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