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The lights were so bright, the silence so awesome. She thought she could not speak after all. But she MUST her father MUST be cleared of suspicion. Only the words would NOT come. Una's little pearl-pure face gleamed up at her beseechingly from the manse pew. The Blythe children were lost in amazement.
Smooth and far in the tranquil evening-air fall the receding notes, a clear, silvery sweetness; farther and farther in the hushed evening air, lessening and lowering, as you bend to listen, till the vanishing strain just cleaves, a single thread of pearl-pure melody, finer, finer, finer, through the dewy twilight, and you hear only your own heart-beats. It is not dead, but risen. It never ceased.
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