From the edge of the hill, where John Weightman sat, he could see the travelers, in little groups or larger companies, gathering from time to time by the different paths, and making the ascent. They were all clothed in white, and the form of their garments was strange to him, it was like some old picture. They passed him, group after group, talking quietly together or singing, not moving in haste, but with a certain air of eagerness and joy as...
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