Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. "What was it?" He was insistent. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. 'Mrs. “Always planning for death. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. Still—you must learn for yourself. " Mrs.
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