“Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. You are not my husband. . A rock gave way to deep water. “Yes, I believe he is. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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