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. The major hailed him with a show of relief. “A number of beautiful things are not intense. It was a mass of knick-knacks. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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