The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “Turn me.
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