“Do come and see the Michaelmas daisies at the end of the garden,” said Mr. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ’ He only laughed.
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