I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. I’m sorry to disappoint you. A question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,—some inclining to one opinion, some to another. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. For some days we shall be very idle there among the trees and rocks.
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