Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. Not entirely. “How will you live?” she appealed. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows.
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