He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. He perceived clearly enough, that the chase was moving quickly; and he was also aware, from the increased rapidity with which the oars were urged, that every exertion was made on board to get out of the reach of her pursuers. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “I don’t know where to go to. Fascination.
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