Aunt Sibylla Was Not Sporting, Now, In The Airy Realms Of Metaphor. Aunt
Sibylla Stood Upon Cape Cod, And Her Voice Rang Out With That Peculiar
Sweep And Power Which The Presence Of A Dread Reality Alone Can Give.
Something Of The Precariousness Of Her Situation, Too, Was Expressed In
The Wild, Alarming, Though Graceful, Gesture Of Her Arms.
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