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V.

Otlauga,—what aileth her?—pale as death,
Without a motion, without a breath,
Resteth there silent and alone,

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As cold and as chill as a marble-stone!
For when that old man passed the door,
She knew his figure I ween of yore:
She had seen that form by the pale moonlight,
Wrapped in the mists of the chilly night.