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“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. 1. “I think they do. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done.
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