” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Plote was sleeping or deaf. “Let us escape,” she said. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. I pity her from the bottom of my heart.
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