She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. ‘Eh bien, pig. Even now I do not understand. He drifted in and out of consciousness. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. .
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