She entered with me the little parlour; and seeing the coffin, withdrew
her hand from mine, and with impatience pushed aside the lid. As
impatiently she removed the face-cloth. In a wild air, she clasped her
uplifted hands together; and now looked upon the corpse, now up to
Heaven, as if appealing to that. Her bosom heaved and fluttered
discernible through her handkerchief, and at last she broke silence:--O
Sir!--See you not here!--the glory of her sex?--Thus by the most
villanous of yours--thus--laid low!

O my blessed Friend!--said she--My sweet Companion!--My lovely Monitress!
--kissing her lips at every tender appellation. And is this all!--Is it
all of my CLARISSA'S story!

Then, after a short pause, and a profound sigh, she turned to me, and
then to her breathless friend. But is she, can she be, really dead!--O
no!--She only sleeps.--Awake, my beloved Friend! My sweet clay-cold
Friend, awake: let thy Anna Howe revive thee; by her warm breath revive
thee, my dear creature! And, kissing her again, Let my warm lips animate
thy cold ones!

Then, sighing again, as from the bottom of her heart, and with an air, as
if disappointed that she answered not, And can such perfection end thus!
--And art thou really and indeed flown from thine Anna Howe!--O my unkind
CLARISSA!

She was silent a few moments, and then, seeming to recover herself, she
turned to me--Forgive, forgive, Mr. Morden, this wild phrensy!--I am
myself!--I never shall be!--You knew not the excellence, no, not half the
excellence, that is thus laid low!--Repeating, This cannot, surely, be