But that was not strange, for
he rarely retired to bed before three o'clock in the morning (even when
he did not sit up all night), and slept till eight. His sleep, though
short, was sound; and it was Pet's custom to prepare breakfast in her
father's room without waking him.
She washed her face, which looked rosy and bewitching in the little
cracked mirror, and dressed her hair in two simple bands down the
cheeks, and put on a white calico dress with small red spots, and a
white apron bound with blue. This was the dress that her father loved
the best. She looked in the glass, and examined her damaged reflection
with a charming coquetry, and said, "Pet, child, you are looking well
to-day. Now for breakfast."
Pet walked to the door, humming her last music lesson in a low voice.
She placed her hand upon the latch, and opened the door softly. As it
swung on its hinges, and she began to obtain a glimpse of the room, she
noticed the gas still burning, though the daylight filled the apartment.
This was strange. A shudder passed through her frame, and her cheeks
began to pale.
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