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She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. My late husband, I mean. " This sally occasioned a general laugh. I’ve got too much work. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy.
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