In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. I'm about to ring for supper.
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