The cave had always been considered an evil place by the braves and for the most part they left her alone. Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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