‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small. It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. " "I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living. This time he couldn't get far. It was not your fault you failed.
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