Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively.
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