Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. Her voice recalled him.
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