As the lapse of time and change of circumstances have wrought a remarkable alteration in the appearance of the poor widow, it may not be improper to notice it here. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. I will light the stove, and there shall be some coffee presently. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way.
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