It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. Cathy sighed. It was hard to resist. Without hindrance—present occupation. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. I have heard of you from my husband.
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