She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. Wood. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still.
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