"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. ‘You will please to tell this—this idiot to release me. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding.
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