Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. "No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle.
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