They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. At this moment, the bell began to toll in a peculiar manner, announcing the approach of the corpse. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. To make sure work of it, I'll superintend the job myself. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on.
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