1 She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living thing about.
2 Mr. Hawkins says it would not be a bad thing if we were to be married out there.
3 Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count.
4 The moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble.
5 As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was work, I went down amongst the patients.
6 The Thing in the coffin writhed; and a hideous, blood-curdling screech came from the opened red lips.
7 Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already.
8 Just now she was quite upset by a little thing which I did not much heed, though I am myself very fond of animals.
9 My watch was still unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and many such details.
10 Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace; and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.
11 It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help.
12 Of one thing I am glad: if it was that the Count carried me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact.
13 She is quite odd in one thing: she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself.
14 The shovel fell from my hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid thing from my sight.
15 The evening was now drawing close, and well I knew that at sunset the Thing, which was till then imprisoned there, would take new freedom and could in any of many forms elude all pursuit.
16 It is a very strange thing, this sleep-walking, for as soon as her will is thwarted in any physical way, her intention, if there be any, disappears, and she yields herself almost exactly to the routine of her life.
17 There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity.
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