The next morning came a compact letter from her father. " "I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living. It’s a mismatch. With this she now entered. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary.
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