She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. "The lash cuts to the bone.
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