But it was all her fault.

She was a little simpleton to have let a kiss upset her so completely.

She now clasped her lover to her bosom as if to beg forgiveness for having pained him.

These weeping children, so anxiously clasping one another, made the dark night yet more woeful than before.

In the distance, the bells continued to complain unceasingly in panting accents.
"It is better to die," repeated Silvere, amidst his sobs; "it is better to die." "Don't cry; forgive me," stammered Miette.