"I dare not, Rowland," she answered. The veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. ‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone.
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