"Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. That’s probably true. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St.
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