Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. But never mind that. He gave her silence in return. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand.
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