‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her.
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