She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. "As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. I've a child here whom I wish to convey across the water without loss of time. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth.
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