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He looked at her gravely for a minute and then said sorrowfully, "Because my dear, dear Madam Mina, now more than ever must we find him even if we have to follow him to the jaws of Hell!" She grew paler as she asked faintly, "Why?" "Because," he answered solemnly, "he can live for centuries, and you are but mortal woman. Time is now to be dreaded, since once he put that mark upon your throat."
She took up the manuscript, and then sorrowfully, reverently, and in fear and trembling, she burnt it sheet after sheet, until the whole was consumed. As each leaf was licked up by the fire, it seemed to her that "a fresh ray of light and peace" transfused the soul of her beloved husband.
The long years had reconciled her to Roland's death, and made the memory of him sacred and sorrowfully sweet, to be brooded over in solitary hours in the silent depths of her loyal heart. But he was alive again, with no right to be alive, having no explanation to give which could reinstate him in his old position. And Felicita? Oh! what a cruel, unwomanly wrong Felicita had been guilty of!
"We sorrowfully retraced the route towards the Vaal; this time no more joyous singing around our fire at night, no more cheerful projects, no more the hope of being the first to announce the glad Evangel among pagan populations. The veldt we traversed seemed to have lost its poetry and to have become desolate. To add to our misfortunes the epidemic seized our oxen.
There are some whose branches droop so sorrowfully towards the ground that people plant them on their graves and some whose branches are so tough and flexible that people use them to weave baskets of. There are some out of which you can carve yourself a grand flute, if you know how. And then there are a heap about which there is nothing very remarkable to tell.
She looked at him and shook her head, her mouth pouting disconsolately, her eyes heavy with passion. He watched her fixedly. "Yes!" he said. Again she shook her head. "Why not?" he asked. She looked at him still heavily, sorrowfully, and again she shook her head. His eyes hardened, and he gave way.
I looked at her one moment, and then with a sob I clasped her in my arms, and cried aloud: "My God! to name murder and that angel face in one breath! Child, you have been befooled. You know nothing." For a second she lingered in my embrace. Then she gently put away my arms, and looking up at me, said fearlessly but sorrowfully: "I cannot lie even for your love. I know all." She knew all.
'Ay, my dear, said the old woman; 'it's a good long step Popsey, take the milk in to grandfather, he's waiting breakfast it's a good long way to Pendleton, my dear, maybe fourteen or fifteen miles. 'Oh dear! that sounds a very long way! said Rosalie. 'Who wants to go there, my dear? asked the old woman. 'I want to go, said Rosalie sorrowfully. 'You want to go, child?
But she did not seem to see the humour of it, for she sent me down an angry little note in which she told me to go away and meet her at four o'clock. I went away sorrowfully, for there was a sense of importance about that note which told me that Nina was not going to tumble into the Cher for nothing, and I knew I should hear more than enough about it before long.
"The farmer came to his wheat in May, And right sorrowfully went away, The farmer came to his wheat in June, And went away whistling a merry tune." His wheat was what is called "May-sick" the first time, but had recovered on the second visit, for another old saw tells us that, "A dripping June puts all in tune."
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