Courtlaw, Mr. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. Stanley had never thought out. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "They say her son's taken at last, and is to be hanged.
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