Your life is like a funeral March. "Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down.
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