All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. In a moment they were in the street outside. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace.
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