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Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens
page 102 of 1240 (08%)
she touched in health," he said in a low voice.

'"It was," cried the elder lady, weeping bitterly.

'The monk turned to the second sister.

'"The gallant youth who looked into thine eyes, and hung upon thy very
breath when first he saw thee intent upon this pastime, lies buried on
a plain whereof the turf is red with blood. Rusty fragments of armour,
once brightly burnished, lie rotting on the ground, and are as little
distinguishable for his, as are the bones that crumble in the mould!"

'The lady groaned, and wrung her hands.

'"The policy of courts," he continued, turning to the two other sisters,
"drew ye from your peaceful home to scenes of revelry and splendour.
The same policy, and the restless ambition of--proud and fiery men, have
sent ye back, widowed maidens, and humbled outcasts. Do I speak truly?"

'The sobs of the two sisters were their only reply.

'"There is little need," said the monk, with a meaning look, "to fritter
away the time in gewgaws which shall raise up the pale ghosts of hopes
of early years. Bury them, heap penance and mortification on their
heads, keep them down, and let the convent be their grave!"

'The sisters asked for three days to deliberate; and felt, that night,
as though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for their dead joys.
But, morning came again, and though the boughs of the orchard trees
drooped and ran wild upon the ground, it was the same orchard still. The
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