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. It is no good arguing about a thing like that. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. She held out both her hands.
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