His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. I’ll get in trouble. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. They walked in silence. Our ideal had fallen.
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