Mr. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. 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. It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. That’s probably true.
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