But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. "I am innocent.
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