She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. . She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. Amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror.
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