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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"She"


There they were before us, mother and babe, the white memories of a
forgotten human history speaking more eloquently to the heart than
could any written record of their lives. Reverently I replaced the
grave-cloths, and, with a sigh that flowers so fair should, in the
purpose of the Everlasting, have only bloomed to be gathered to the
grave, I turned to the body on the opposite shelf, and gently unveiled
it. It was that of a man in advanced life, with a long grizzled beard,
and also robed in white, probably the husband of the lady, who, after
surviving her many years, came at the last to sleep once more for good
and all beside her.
We left the place and entered others. It would be too long to describe
the many things I saw in them. Each one had its occupants, for the five
hundred and odd years that had elapsed between the completion of the
cave and the destruction of the race had evidently sufficed to fill
these catacombs, numberless as they were, and all appeared to have been
undisturbed since the day when they were placed there.


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