She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. “I wonder what happened. " "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. ” “It would be my pleasure, madame. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation.
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