So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. About them quickly. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. My thanks, by the by. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. CHAPTER XXVIII.
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