Explore "Foxglove Manor, Volume III" by Robert W. Buchanan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Haldane, like Baptisto, was clad funereally. A long black travelling cloak was wrapped around him, and a Spanish sombrero, also black, was drawn over his forehead. He was ghastly pale. He stood with knitted brows, gazing quietly at the clergyman.
Santley tried to speak, but could not. Again his left hand clutched his heart, and he seemed about to fall. Then he heard, as if in a dream -- for the voice seemed far away -- these words: