If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. “The fact is—I don’t know why—this takes me by surprise. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. I can't concentrate on my work. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. Good-bye, aunt. Ovarian cancer.
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