’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. Practically. “I didn’t blow up the house. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death.
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