‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. His hand flew across the paper. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. ” “Anna!” “It is true, dear. ” “But there is not a shadow of evidence against you,” he objected. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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