From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. Melusine, intent on the luckless Kimble, did not care. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf.
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