She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. With this view, he suffered him to pass on. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things. Something in her tone made him look up. A paralyzing horror was upon her. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain.
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