Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be.
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