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She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “You have been very kind to me,” she said. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. John looked at his feet bashfully.
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