At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. A question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,—some inclining to one opinion, some to another. “It’s not for us to supplicate any more.
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