Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age. She could not say a word, much less move. "Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. She felt the thrill race through her body.
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