The streets were full of colour. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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