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. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. ” She gestured to an abandoned farmhouse down a long stretch of icy dirt road. " "All right.
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