One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. He—wanted to marry me. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you —who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do with crime. You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth.
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