She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. Now let us forget it.
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