It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. "I guessed as much. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. "Mr. Wood. I will take her away and make her serve me as my wife. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer.
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