The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. Then she took her sister’s hand. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. " "What?" "We'll put those stories back into the trunk and never speak of them to him. ” “Yes, but you forget; how am I to live?” “Easily. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man.
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