She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. She was finally dead, going to Hell. "Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think.
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