She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. You shall know the truth. Then he stood up and repeated it again. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you —who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do with crime.
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