The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. She made an abrupt personal appeal. The ring's yours, and you're mine. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. For my blood you made it very hot indeed.
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