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That speak to thee: this is a friendly hand That presses thine so kindly. Or. Take it away! It was the swathed dead! I know its clammy, chill, and bony touch. (Fixing her eyes fiercely on Eleanora.) Come not again; I'm strong and terrible now: Mine eyes have look'd upon all dreadful things; And when the earth yawns, and the hell-blast sounds, I'll 'bide the trooping of unearthly steps With stiff-clench'd, terrible strength. Hugh. (beating his breast.) A murd'rer is a guiltless wretch to me.

Hart. Be patient; 'tis a momentary pitch; Let me encounter it. Or. Take off from me thy strangely-fasten'd eye: I may not look upon thee, yet I must. Unfix thy baleful glance: Art thou a snake?