From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm.
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