The face that was turned piteously toward the jury was deeply lined
with the furrows of physical and mental suffering.
The eyes drooped constantly, and there were times when she closed them
for a full minute.
Every movement of the lips or eyelids, every arrangement of dress and
costume, was either studiously planned or pathetically dramatic.
The weariness and bitterness were marked in the droop of her mouth,
in the perplexed wrinkling of her forehead, in the stoop of her
shoulders, in the relaxation of her hands, lying heavily on the table
before her.
A long, long line of battles she has behind her, with her good name
torn to shreds in the fight; and nobody can guess at the scars and
open wounds in her soul. No matter how great may have been her fault,
how untrammeled her impulses and wishes, how wild and defiant her
spirit toward the law and society, now she is a tired, broken woman,
who has lost the day.