He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. The old aspect of the place was gone. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. It was the grand nursery of vice. She thought me— filthy.
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