I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. After that night she made it a habit. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew. She gloried in it: he needed her. She was finally dead, going to Hell. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil.
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