Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate.
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