There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. God had never answered any of her prayers. She will die if she knows I have a gun. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. Funk! I’ll see it out. And then I'll pay off old scores.
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