“It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. None at all. It was a dull, foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick and heavy, that, at eight o'clock, the curious who arrived near the prison could scarcely discern the tower of St.
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