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Updated: May 15, 2025
Her pale little hands were folded on her black dress; her soft braids of hair, already silver-grey, and her complexion, lovely as that of a young girl, showing delicately in contrast with her crimson garden-hood, the triumph of her daughter's skilful fingers. Olive crossed the grass with a quick and noiseless step, Harold following. "Mamma, darling!" A light, bright as a sunburst, shone over Mrs.
"Melancholy, learned, and sentimental," said Christie to herself, as she settled David's character after these discoveries. The sound of a bell made her hasten down, more curious than ever to see if this belief was true. "Perhaps thee had better step out and call my son. Sometimes he does not hear the bell when he is busy. Thee will find my garden-hood and shawl behind the door," said Mrs.
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