Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. I suppose I believe in God. ” He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted.
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