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... over the edge of a low bank, and swear to him that he was clawing the brink of
Shakespeare's Cliff or any other hundred-foot drop. The wretched creatures
suffered all the tortures of death before they let go, and, as a rule, they never
... and disappointment that had come over me, the sudden feeling that I was
going not to adventure, but to death; that here was not romance, but an end—a
disenchanted surprise that it should so soon be all over. We kept a grim silence.
You might well have imagined he was a descendant of the Cid Campeador, only
to look at him lying there without a quiver of a feature, his face stainlessly white, a
little bluish in extreme lack of blood, with all the nobility of death upon it, like an ...
... in his glance, and to live in the air he breathed. On the other side of the bed the
old Don, lost in a high- backed armchair, remained plunged in that meditation of
the old which resembles sleep, as sleep resembles death. The priest, lighted.
Death hovered over that table—and also, as if the breath of past ages. The
multitude of lights, the polished floor of costly wood, the bare whiteness of walls
wainscoted with marble, the vastness of the room, the imposing forms of furniture,
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LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - ToddSherman - LibraryThing
“And on this ghostly sigh, on this breath, with the feeble click of beads in the nun’s hands, a silence fell upon the room, vast as the stillness of a world of unknown faiths, loves, beliefs, of ... Read full review