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heard them. Perhaps her trembling hands
would have clasped the cross, which has
comforted so many hearts in the hour of death, and
which she had always loved as a symbol of
human suffering. But nothing! nothing! No
word of comfort, no help, no loving hand on the
feverish brow—alone in a foreign country, with
a tortured heart, hopeless, perhaps trembling for
the unknown—such was her end on earth—this
‘soul of fire and soul of thought.’
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