Thank you to everyone who got their Scarlet Letter essays in on time. Your names have been forwarded to the administration and downtown for your well-earned reward.
Late material is worth 50 points, with the exception of those who has legally-extended absences.
Due at the beginning of class: vocabulary exercise based upon the context of Hawthorne's short story The Minister's Black Veil handout in class; copy below
Test on the above vocab on Friday.
In class; reading The Minister's Black Veil
Homework for tomorrow / Thursday: apostophe review handout in class, copy below
THE sexton
stood in the porch of Milford meeting-house, pulling busily at the bell-rope.
The old people of the village came stooping along the street. Children, with
bright faces, tripped merrily beside their parents, or mimicked a graver gait,
in the conscious dignity of their Sunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked
sidelong at the pretty maidens, and fancied that the Sabbath sunshine made them
prettier than on week days. When the throng had mostly streamed into the porch,
the sexton began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on the Reverend Mr. Hooper's
door. The first glimpse of the clergyman's figure was the signal for the bell
to cease its summons.
``But what
has good Parson Hooper got upon his face?'' cried the sexton in astonishment.
All within
hearing immediately turned about, and beheld the semblance of Mr. Hooper,
pacing slowly his meditative way towards the meeting-house. With one accord
they started, expressing more wonder than if some strange minister were coming
to dust the cushions of Mr. Hooper's pulpit.
``Are you
sure it is our parson?'' inquired Goodman Gray of the sexton.
``Of a
certainty it is good Mr. Hooper,'' replied the sexton. ``He was to have
exchanged pulpits with Parson Shute, of Westbury; but Parson Shute sent to
excuse himself yesterday, being to preach a funeral sermon.''
The cause
of so much amazement may appear sufficiently slight. Mr. Hooper, a gentlemanly
person, of about thirty, though still a bachelor, was dressed with due clerical
neatness, as if a careful wife had starched his band, and brushed the weekly
dust from his Sunday's garb. There was but one thing remarkable in his
appearance. Swathed about his forehead, and hanging down over his face, so low
as to be shaken by his breath, Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer view
it seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealed his
features, except the mouth and chin, but probably did not intercept his sight,
further than to give a darkened aspect to all living and inanimate things. With
this gloomy shade before him, good Mr. Hooper walked onward, at a slow and
quiet pace, stooping somewhat, and looking on the ground, as is customary with
abstracted men, yet nodding kindly to those of his parishioners who still
waited on the meeting-house steps. But so wonder-struck were they that his
greeting hardly met with a return.
``I can't
really feel as if good Mr. Hooper's face was behind that piece of crape,'' said
the sexton.
``I don't
like it,'' muttered an old woman, as she hobbled into the meeting-house. ``He
has changed himself into something awful, only by hiding his face.''
``Our
parson has gone mad!'' cried Goodman Gray, following him across the threshold.
A rumor of
some unaccountable phenomenon had preceded Mr. Hooper into the meeting-house,
and set all the congregation astir. Few could refrain from twisting their heads
towards the door; many stood upright, and turned directly about; while several
little boys clambered upon the seats, and came down again with a terrible
racket. There was a general bustle, a rustling of the women's gowns and
shuffling of the men's feet, greatly at variance with that hushed repose which
should attend the entrance of the minister. But Mr. Hooper appeared not to
notice the perturbation of his people. He entered with an almost noiseless
step, bent his head mildly to the pews on each side, and bowed as he passed his
oldest
parishioner, a white-haired great grandsire, who occupied an arm-chair in the centre of the aisle. It was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became conscious of something singular in the appearance of his pastor. He seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder, till Mr. Hooper had ascended the stairs, and showed himself in the pulpit, face to face with his congregation, except for the black veil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn. It shook with his measured breath, as he gave out the psalm; it threw its obscurity between him and the holy page, as he read the Scriptures; and while he prayed, the veil lay heavily on his uplifted countenance. Did he seek to hide it from the dread Being whom he was addressing?
Such was
the effect of this simple piece of crape, that more than one woman of delicate
nerves was forced to leave the meeting-house. Yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation
was almost as fearful a sight to the minister, as his black veil to them.
Mr. Hooper
had the reputation of a good preacher, but not an energetic one: he strove to
win his people heavenward by mild, persuasive influences, rather than to drive
them thither by the thunders of the Word. The sermon which he now delivered was
marked by the same characteristics of style and manner as the general series of
his pulpit oratory. But there was something, either in the sentiment of the
discourse itself, or in the imagination of the auditors, which made it greatly
the most powerful effort that they had ever heard from their pastor's lips. It
was tinged, rather more darkly than usual, with the gentle gloom of Mr.
Hooper's temperament. The subject had reference to secret sin, and those sad
mysteries which we hide from our nearest and dearest, and would fain conceal
from our own consciousness, even forgetting that the Omniscient can detect
them. A subtle power was breathed into his words. Each member of the congregation,
the most innocent girl, and the man of hardened breast, felt as if the preacher
had crept upon them, behind his awful veil, and discovered their hoarded
iniquity of deed or thought. Many spread their clasped hands on their bosoms.
There was nothing terrible in what Mr. Hooper said, at least, no violence; and
yet, with every tremor of his melancholy voice, the hearers quaked. An unsought
pathos came hand in hand with awe. So sensible were the audience of some
unwonted attribute in their minister, that they longed for a breath of wind to
blow aside the veil, almost believing that a stranger's visage would be
discovered, though the form, gesture, and voice were those of Mr. Hooper.
At the
close of the services, the people hurried out with indecorous confusion, eager
to communicate their pent-up amazement, and conscious of lighter spirits the
moment they lost sight of the black veil. Some gathered in little circles,
huddled closely together, with their mouths all whispering in the centre; some
went homeward alone, wrapt in silent meditation; some talked loudly, and
profaned the Sabbath day with ostentatious laughter. A few shook their
sagacious heads, intimating that they could penetrate the mystery; while one or
two affirmed that there was no mystery at all, but only that Mr. Hooper's eyes
were so weakened by the midnight
lamp, as to require a shade. After a brief interval, forth came good Mr. Hooper also, in the rear of his flock. Turning his veiled face from one group to another, he paid due reverence to the hoary heads, saluted the middle aged with kind dignity as their friend and spiritual guide, greeted the young with mingled authority and love, and laid his hands on the little children's heads to bless them. Such was always his custom on the Sabbath day. Strange and bewildered looks repaid him for his courtesy. None; as on former occasions, aspired to the honor of walking by their pastor's side. Old Squire Saunders, doubtless by an accidental lapse of memory, neglected to invite Mr. Hooper to his table, where the good clergyman had been wont to bless the food, almost every Sunday since his settlement. He returned, therefore, to the parsonage, and, at the moment of closing the door, was observed to look back upon the people, all of whom had their eyes fixed upon the minister. A sad smile gleamed faintly from beneath the black veil, and flickered about his mouth, glimmering as he disappeared.
``How
strange,'' said a lady, ``that a simple black veil, such as any woman might
wear on her bonnet, should become such a terrible thing on Mr. Hooper's face!''
``Something
must surely be amiss with Mr. Hooper's intellects,'' observed her husband, the
physician of the village. ``But the strangest part of the affair is the effect
of this vagary, even on a sober-minded man like myself. The black veil, though
it covers only our pastor's face, throws its influence over his whole person,
and makes him ghostlike from head to foot. Do you not feel it so?''
``Truly do
I,'' replied the lady; ``and I would not be alone with him for the world. I
wonder he is not afraid to be alone with himself!''
``Men
sometimes are so,'' said her husband.
The
afternoon service was attended with similar circumstances. At its conclusion,
the bell tolled for the funeral of a young lady. The relatives and friends were
assembled in the house, and the more distant acquaintances stood about the
door, speaking of the good qualities of the deceased, when their talk was
interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Hooper, still covered with his black veil.
It was now an appropriate emblem. The clergyman stepped into the room where the
corpse was laid, and bent over the coffin, to take a last farewell of his
deceased parishioner. As he stooped, the veil hung straight down from his
forehead, so that, if her eye-lids had not been closed forever, the dead maiden
might have seen his face. Could Mr. Hooper be fearful of her glance, that he so
hastily caught back the black veil? A person who watched the interview between
the dead and living, scrupled not to affirm, that, at the instant when the
clergyman's features were disclosed, the corpse had slightly shuddered,
rustling the shroud and muslin cap, though the countenance retained the
composure of death. A superstitious old woman was the only witness of this
prodigy. From the coffin Mr. Hooper passed into the chamber of the mourners,
and thence to the head of the staircase, to make the funeral prayer. It was a
tender and heart-dissolving prayer, full of sorrow, yet so imbued with
celestial
hopes, that the music of a heavenly harp, swept by the fingers of the dead, seemed faintly to be heard among the saddest accents of the minister. The people trembled, though they but darkly understood him when he prayed that they, and himself, and all of mortal race, might be ready, as he trusted this young maiden had been, for the dreadful hour that should snatch the veil from their faces. The bearers went heavily forth, and the mourners followed, saddening all the street, with the dead before them, and Mr. Hooper in his black veil behind.
``Why do
you look back?'' said one in the procession to his partner.
``I had a
fancy,'' replied she, ``that the minister and the maiden's spirit were walking
hand in hand.''
``And so
had I, at the same moment,'' said the other.
That
night, the handsomest couple in Milford village were to be joined in wedlock.
Though reckoned a melancholy man, Mr. Hooper had a placid cheerfulness for such
occasions, which often excited a sympathetic smile where livelier merriment
would have been thrown away. There was no quality of his disposition which made
him more beloved than this. The company at the wedding awaited his arrival with
impatience, trusting that the strange awe, which had gathered over him
throughout the day, would now be dispelled. But such was not the result. When
Mr. Hooper came, the first thing that their eyes rested on was the same
horrible black veil, which had added deeper gloom to the funeral, and could
portend nothing but evil to the wedding. Such was its immediate effect on the
guests that a cloud seemed to have rolled duskily from beneath the black crape,
and dimmed the light of the candles. The bridal pair stood up before the
minister. But the bride's cold fingers quivered in the tremulous hand of the
bridegroom, and her deathlike paleness caused a whisper that the maiden who had
been buried a few hours before was come from her grave to be married. If ever
another wedding were so dismal, it was that famous one where they tolled the
wedding knell. After performing the ceremony, Mr. Hooper raised a glass of wine
to his lips, wishing happiness to the new-married couple in a strain of mild
pleasantry that ought to have brightened the features of the guests, like a
cheerful gleam from the hearth. At that instant, catching a glimpse of his
figure in the looking-glass, the black veil involved his own spirit in the
horror with which it overwhelmed all others. His frame shuddered, his lips grew
white, he spilt the untasted wine upon the carpet, and rushed forth into the
darkness. For the Earth, too, had on her Black Veil.
The next
day, the whole village of Milford talked of little else than Parson Hooper's
black veil. That, and the mystery concealed behind it, supplied a topic for discussion
between acquaintances meeting in the street, and good women gossiping at their
open windows. It was the first item of news that the tavern-keeper told to his
guests. The children babbled of it on their way to school. One imitative little
imp covered his face with an old black handkerchief, thereby so affrighting his
playmates that the panic seized himself, and he well-nigh lost his wits by his
own waggery.
It was
remarkable that all of the busybodies and impertinent people in the parish, not
one ventured to put the plain question to Mr. Hooper, wherefore he did this
thing. Hitherto, whenever there appeared the slightest call for such
interference, he had never lacked advisers, nor shown himself averse to be
guided by their judgment. If he erred at all, it was by so painful a degree of
self-distrust, that even the mildest censure would lead him to consider an
indifferent action as a crime. Yet, though so well acquainted with this amiable
weakness, no individual among his parishioners chose to make the black veil a
subject of friendly remonstrance. There was a feeling of dread, neither plainly
confessed nor carefully concealed, which caused each to shift the
responsibility upon another, till at length it was found expedient to send a
deputation of the church, in order to deal with Mr. Hooper about the mystery,
before it should grow into a scandal. Never did an embassy so ill discharge its
duties. The minister received then with friendly courtesy, but became silent,
after they were seated, leaving to his visitors the whole burden of introducing
their important business. The topic, it might be supposed, was obvious enough.
There was the black veil swathed round Mr. Hooper's forehead, and concealing
every feature above his placid mouth, on which, at times, they could perceive
the glimmering of a melancholy smile. But that piece of crape, to their
imagination, seemed to hang down before his heart, the symbol of a fearful
secret between him and them. Were the veil but cast aside, they might speak
freely of it, but not till then. Thus they sat a considerable time, speechless,
confused, and shrinking uneasily from Mr. Hooper's eye, which they felt to be
fixed upon them with an invisible glance. Finally, the deputies returned
abashed to their constituents, pronouncing the matter too weighty to be
handled, except by a council of the churches, if, indeed, it might not require
a general synod.
But there
was one person in the village unappalled by the awe with which the black veil
had impressed all beside herself. When the deputies returned without an
explanation, or even venturing to demand one, she, with the calm energy of her
character, determined to chase away the strange cloud that appeared to be
settling round Mr. Hooper, every moment more darkly than before. As his
plighted wife, it should be her privilege to know what the black veil
concealed. At the minister's first visit, therefore, she entered upon the
subject with a direct simplicity, which made the task easier both for him and
her. After he had seated himself, she fixed her eyes steadfastly upon the veil,
but could discern nothing of the dreadful gloom that had so overawed the
multitude: it was but a double fold of crape, hanging down from his forehead to
his mouth, and slightly stirring with his breath.
``No,''
said she aloud, and smiling, ``there is nothing terrible in this piece of
crape, except that it hides a face which I am always glad to look upon. Come,
good sir, let the sun shine from behind the cloud. First lay-aside your black
veil: then tell me why you put it on.''
Mr.
Hooper's smile glimmered faintly.
``There is
an hour to come,'' said he, ``when all of us shall cast aside our
veils. Take it not amiss, beloved friend, if I wear this piece of crape till then.''
``Your
words are a mystery, too,'' returned the young lady. ``Take away the veil from
them, at least.''
``Elizabeth,
I will,'' said he, ``so far as my vow may suffer me. Know, then, this veil is a
type and a symbol, and I am bound to wear it ever, both in light and darkness,
in solitude and before the gaze of multitudes, and as with strangers, so with
my familiar friends. No mortal eye will see it withdrawn. This dismal shade
must separate me from the world: even you, Elizabeth, can never come behind
it!''
``What
grievous affliction hath befallen you,'' she earnestly inquired, ``that you
should thus darken your eyes forever?''
``If it be
a sign of mourning,'' replied Mr. Hooper, ``I, perhaps, like most other
mortals, have sorrows dark enough to be typified by a black veil.''
``But what
if the world will not believe that it is the type of an innocent sorrow?''
urged Elizabeth. ``Beloved and respected as you are, there may be whispers that
you hide your face under the consciousness of secret sin. For the sake of your
holy office, do away this scandal!''
The color
rose into her cheeks as she intimated the nature of the rumors that were
already abroad in the village. But Mr. Hooper's mildness did not forsake him.
He even smiled again -- that same sad smile, which always appeared like a faint
glimmering of light, proceeding from the obscurity beneath the veil.
``If I
hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough,'' he merely replied; ``and if I
cover it for secret sin, what mortal might not do the same?''
And with
this gentle, but unconquerable obstinacy did he resist all her entreaties. At
length Elizabeth sat silent. For a few moments she appeared lost in thought,
considering, probably, what new methods might be tried to withdraw her lover
from so dark a fantasy, which, if it had no other meaning, was perhaps a
symptom of mental disease. Though of a firmer character than his own, the tears
rolled down her cheeks. But, in an instant, as it were, a new feeling took the
place of sorrow: her eyes were fixed insensibly on the black veil, when, like a
sudden twilight in the air, its terrors fell around her. She arose, and stood
trembling before him.
``And do
you feel it then, at last?'' said he mournfully.
She made
no reply, but covered her eyes with her hand, and turned to leave the room. He
rushed forward and caught her arm.
``Have
patience with me, Elizabeth!'' cried he, passionately. ``Do not desert me,
though this veil must be between us here on earth. Be mine, and hereafter there
shall be no veil over my face, no darkness between our souls! It is but a
mortal veil -- it is not for eternity! O! you know not how lonely I am, and how
frightened, to be alone behind my black veil. Do not leave me in this miserable
obscurity forever!''
``Lift the
veil but once, and look me in the face,'' said she.
``Never!
It cannot be!'' replied Mr. Hooper.
``Then
farewell!'' said Elizabeth.
She
withdrew her arm from his grasp, and slowly departed, pausing at the door, to
give one long shuddering gaze, that seemed almost to penetrate the mystery of
the black veil. But, even amid his grief, Mr. Hooper smiled to think that only
a material emblem had separated him from happiness, though the horrors, which
it shadowed forth, must be drawn darkly between the fondest of lovers.
From that
time no attempts were made to remove Mr. Hooper's black veil, or, by a direct
appeal, to discover the secret which it was supposed to hide. By persons who
claimed a superiority to popular prejudice, it was reckoned merely an eccentric
whim, such as often mingles with the sober actions of men otherwise rational,
and tinges them all with its own semblance of insanity. But with the multitude,
good Mr. Hooper was irreparbly a bugbear. He could not walk the street with any
peace of mind, so conscious was he that the gentle and timid would turn aside
to avoid him, and that others would make it a point of hardihood to throw
themselves in his way. The impertinence of the latter class compelled him to
give up his customary walk at sunset to the burial ground; for when he leaned
pensively over the gate, there would always be faces behind the gravestones,
peeping at his black veil. A fable went the rounds that the stare of the dead
people drove him thence. It grieved him, to the very depth of his kind heart,
to observe how the children fled from his approach, breaking up their merriest
sports, while his melancholy figure was yet afar off. Their instinctive dread
caused him to feel more strongly than aught else, that a preternatural horror
was interwoven with the threads of the black crape. In truth, his own antipathy
to the veil was known to be so great, that he never willingly passed before a
mirror, nor stooped to drink at a still fountain, lest, in its peaceful bosom,
he should be affrighted by himself. This was what gave plausibility to the
whispers, that Mr. Hooper's conscience tortured him for some great crime too
horrible to be entirely concealed, or otherwise than so obscurely intimated.
Thus, from beneath the black veil, there rolled a cloud into the sunshine, an
ambiguity of sin or sorrow, which enveloped the poor minister, so that love or
sympathy could never reach him. It was said that ghost and fiend consorted with
him there. With self-shudderings and outward terrors, he walked continually in
its shadow, groping darkly within his own soul, or gazing through a medium that
saddened the whole world. Even the lawless wind, it was believed, respected his
dreadful secret, and never blew aside the veil. But still good Mr. Hooper sadly
smiled at the pale visages of the worldly throng as he passed by.
Among all
its bad influences, the black veil had the one desirable effect, of making its
wearer a very efficient clergyman. By the aid of his mysterious emblem -- for
there was no other apparent cause -- he became a man of awful power over souls
that were in agony for sin. His converts always regarded him with a dread
peculiar to themselves, affirming, though but figuratively, that, before he
brought them to celestial light, they had been with him behind the black veil.
Its gloom, indeed, enabled him to sympathize
with all dark affections. Dying sinners cried aloud for Mr. Hooper, and would not yield their breath till he appeared; though ever, as he stooped to whisper consolation, they shuddered at the veiled face so near their own. Such were the terrors of the black veil, even when Death had bared his visage! Strangers came long distances to attend service at his church, with the mere idle purpose of gazing at his figure, because it was forbidden them to behold his face. But many were made to quake ere they departed! Once, during Governor Belcher's administration, Mr. Hooper was appointed to preach the election sermon. Covered with his black veil, he stood before the chief magistrate, the council, and the representatives, and wrought so deep an impression, that the legislative measures of that year were characterized by all the gloom and piety of our earliest ancestral sway.
In this
manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life, irreproachable in outward act, yet
shrouded in dismal suspicions; kind and loving, though unloved, and dimly
feared; a man apart from men, shunned in their health and joy, but ever
summoned to their aid in mortal anguish. As years wore on, shedding their snows
above his sable veil, he acquired a name throughout the New England churches,
and they called him Father Hooper. Nearly all his parishioners, who were of
mature age when he was settled, had been borne away by many a funeral: he had
one congregation in the church, and a more crowded one in the churchyard; and
having wrought so late into the evening, and done his work so well, it was now
good Father Hooper's turn to rest.
Several
persons were visible by the shaded candlelight, in the death chamber of the old
clergyman. Natural connections he had none. But there was the decorously grave,
though unmoved physician, seeking only to mitigate the last pangs of the
patient whom he could not save. There were the deacons, and other eminently
pious members of his church. There, also, was the Reverend Mr. Clark, of
Westbury, a young and zealous divine, who had ridden in haste to pray by the
bedside of the expiring minister. There was the nurse, no hired handmaiden of
death, but one whose calm affection had endured thus long in secrecy, in
solitude, amid the chill of age, and would not perish, even at the dying hour.
Who, but Elizabeth! And there lay the hoary head of good Father Hooper upon the
death pillow, with the black veil still swathed about his brow, and reaching
down over his face, so that each more difficult gasp of his faint breath caused
it to stir. All through life that piece of crape had hung between him and the
world: it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood and woman's love, and
kept him in that saddest of all prisons, his own heart; and still it lay upon
his face, as if to deepen the gloom of his darksome chamber, and shade him from
the sunshine of eternity.
For some
time previous, his mind had been confused, wavering doubtfully between the past
and the present, and hovering forward, as it were, at intervals, into the
indistinctness of the world to come. There had been feverish turns, which
tossed him from side to side, and wore away what little strength he had. But in
his most convulsive struggles, and in the
wildest vagaries of his intellect, when no other thought retained its sober influence, he still showed an awful solicitude lest the black veil should slip aside. Even if his bewildered soul could have forgotten, there was a faithful woman at this pillow, who, with averted eyes, would have covered that aged face, which she had last beheld in the comeliness of manhood. At length the death-stricken old man lay quietly in the torpor of mental and bodily exhaustion, with an imperceptible pulse, and breath that grew fainter and fainter, except when a long, deep, and irregular inspiration seemed to prelude the flight of his spirit.
The
minister of Westbury approached the bedside.
``Venerable
Father Hooper,'' said he, ``the moment of your release is at hand. Are you ready
for the lifting of the veil that shuts in time from eternity?''
Father
Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of his head; then,
apprehensive, perhaps, that his meaning might be doubted, he exerted himself to
speak.
``Yea,''
said he, in faint accents, ``my soul hath a patient weariness until that veil
be lifted.''
``And is
it fitting,'' resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, ``that a man so given to prayer,
of such a blameless example, holy in deed and thought, so far as mortal
judgment may pronounce; is it fitting that a father in the church should leave
a shadow on his memory, that may seem to blacken a life so pure? I pray you, my
venerable brother, let not this thing be! Suffer us to be gladdened by your
triumphant aspect as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternity be
lifted, let me cast aside this black veil from your face!''
And thus
speaking, the Reverend Mr. Clark bent forward to reveal the mystery of so many
years. But, exerting a sudden energy, that made all the beholders stand aghast,
Father Hooper snatched both his hands from beneath the bedclothes, and pressed
them strongly on the black veil, resolute to struggle, if the minister of
Westbury would contend with a dying man.
``Never!''
cried the veiled clergyman. ``On earth, never!''
``Dark old
man!'' exclaimed the affrighted minister, ``with what horrible crime upon your
soul are you now passing to the judgment?''
Father
Hooper's breath heaved; it rattled in his throat; but, with a mighty effort,
grasping forward with his hands, he caught hold of life, and held it back till
he should speak. He even raised himself in bed; and there he sat, shivering
with the arms of death around him, while the black veil hung down, awful, at
that last moment, in the gathered terrors of a life-time. And yet the faint,
sad smile, so often there, now seemed to glimmer from its obscurity, and linger
on Father Hooper's lips.
``Why do
you tremble at me alone?'' cried he, turning his veiled face round the circle
of pale spectators. ``Tremble also at each other! Have men avoided me, and
women shown no pity, and children screamed and fled, only for my black veil?
What, but the mystery which it obscurely typifies, has made this piece of crape
so awful? When the friend shows his
inmost heart to his friend; the lover to his best beloved; when man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely treasuring up the secret of his sin; then deem me a monster, for the symbol beneath which I have lived, and die! I look around me, and, lo! on every visage a Black Veil!''
While his
auditors shrank from one another, in mutual affright, Father Hooper fell back
upon his pillow, a veiled corpse, with a faint smile lingering on the lips.
Still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and a veiled corpse they bore him to
the grave. The grass of many years has sprung up and withered on that grave,
the burial stone is moss-grown, and good Mr. Hooper's face is dust; but awful
is still the thought that it mouldered beneath the Black Veil!
Apostrophe review.
It is diploma that they want to see.
22. The directions that the men gave were unclear.
The directions were unclear.
23. Depending upon the price of the house, we might stay in this neighborhood.
Depending upon the price, we might stay in this neighborhood.
24. The hours of the job are not unreasonable.
The hours are not unreasonable.
25. All the decorations for the graduates are stored in the closet.
All of the decorations are stored in the closet.
26. The fish tanks belonging to my boyfriend contain over twenty varieties of fish.
My fish tanks contain twenty varieties of fish.
27. The dinner prepared by the chefs was delicious.
The dinner was delicious.
28. The stripes on a zebra make it unique.
A stripes make it unique.
29. The dog hid the bone belonging to it.
The dog hid bone.
30. I have completed the outlines for my projects.
I have completed my outlines.
Joe is unable to attend his party.
32. The cat finally got one paw into the home of the mice.
The cat finally got one paw into the home.
33. The prices offered by the first four bidders were rejected.
The first four prices were rejected.
34. Everyone marveled at the spots on the leopard.
Everyone marveled at the spots.
35. The bill from the dentist was outrageously high.
The bill was outrageously high.
36. Parts belonging to the car were strewn all over the road after the accident.
The parts were strewn all over the road after the accident.
37. We looked for the pens belonging to the students.
We looked for the pens.
38. The cost for the property was low.
The cost was extremely low.
39. The cat played with the yarn given to it.
The cat played with yarn.
40. The reports from all of the stores offered a grim outlook for sales next year.
All of the reports offered a grim outlook for sales next year.
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