The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. Lucy’s bright tones pursued her. She proffered her neck towards him. . Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head.
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