She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. He's coming. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened.
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