Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. I've despatched him to the New Prison. In vain Wood protested his innocence. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. It is not at all what I expected either.
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