And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. The executioner shook his head. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked.
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