The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Each arm of the blouse had the faintest of rings around the elbow, a stain that looked familiar.
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