" "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. Jacques is very bad, and I am afraid he may die. " The words were scarcely pronounced, when Rowland disappeared. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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