"Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me.
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