Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. She leaned back in her chair. 1. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you —who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do with crime.
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