A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. It disgusts me that you should touch me. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed.
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