Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. ” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly.
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