She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. They reluctantly went back to school the Thursday after New Year’s Day. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional.
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