" "O Jack, dear, dear Jack!" cried Mrs. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her.
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