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THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE.
Priscilla's hands. What is its use, except to fling a golden radiance around those who grasp it? Yet let Zenobia take heed! Priscilla shall have no wrong!"
But, while the man of show thus meditated,—that very evening, so far as I can adjust the dates of these strange incidents,—Priscilla—poor, pallid flower!—was either snatched from Zenobia's hand, or flung wilfully away!
