“That is where I got confused,” he said. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you —who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do with crime.
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