She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. The room was dark and dusty. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. “So am I. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. “Just remember, I have to make this up to you. The manservant shall bring your trunks in and pay the fare too, if you like. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said.
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