Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. He stood back and held her shoulders. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. She was finally dead, going to Hell. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. A coach was also in attendance, at a little distance. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions.
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