’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it.
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