The noose was at its throat when I called for help. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. As they 56 approached the manor, she was permitted to peep her head outside the chariot's front window.
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