Practically it was most of the chief interests in life that she proposed to settle in this pedestrian meditation. ‘Speak, then. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. 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.
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