” “Mr. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite.
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