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She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. “Was I not strong enough when you flogged me for leaning over the oubliette? Who tells you these things? The physician, Sebastianus? Am I not sovereign enough to judge what is happening to my own body?\" She demanded. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. But days had now passed. We'll get those books into your room first. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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