There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “Always planning for death. “But, forgive me, you are tired. And it's uncanny.
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