The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. Sydney sprang up. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently.
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