Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. I have been dreaming of your body and you night after night. Gracious, there’s the gong. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. 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.
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