Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. Death belongs to God, young man.
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