His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. But that bridge was more remarkable than any the metropolis now possesses. I did not know what God had in mind then. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. She reached for the door handle.
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