There was a stain of wine upon her dress. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. Hill closed his eyes. ‘This we will leave.
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