It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. She was the High Priestess. "Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Recurrently she heard: "I don't know; I really don't know.
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