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Varney the Vampire - Or the Feast of Blood by Thomas Preskett Prest
page 48 of 1443 (03%)
cleared the air, and rendered it deliciously invigorating and life-like.
The weather had been dull, and there had been for some days a certain
heaviness in the atmosphere, which was now entirely removed.

The morning sun was shining with uncommon brilliancy, birds were singing
in every tree and on every bush; so pleasant, so spirit-stirring,
health-giving a morning, seldom had he seen. And the effect upon his
spirits was great, although not altogether what it might have been, had
all gone on as it usually was in the habit of doing at that house. The
ordinary little casualties of evil fortune had certainly from time to
time, in the shape of illness, and one thing or another, attacked the
family of the Bannerworths in common with every other family, but here
suddenly had arisen a something at once terrible and inexplicable.

He found Mr. Marchdale up and dressed, and apparently in deep and
anxious thought. The moment he saw Henry, he said,--

"Flora is awake, I presume."

"Yes, but her mind appears to be much disturbed."

"From bodily weakness, I dare say."

"But why should she be bodily weak? she was strong and well, ay, as well
as she could ever be in all her life. The glow of youth and health was
on her cheeks. Is it possible that, in the course of one night, she
should become bodily weak to such an extent?"

"Henry," said Mr. Marchdale, sadly, "sit down. I am not, as you know, a
superstitious man."
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