But she did not believe he would do that. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you —who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do with crime. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. "I have some difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily.
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