Book, Chapter

1    3,  95|      no scar from that gaping wound is left upon this breast!
2    3,  98|     the faintest trace of any wound, nor was I conscious of
3    4, 117|   grim eyes. Every kiss was a wound to me, every artful blandishment
4    5, 140|       and bathed the trifling wound in my leg with vinegar:
5    5, 160| colorless scarf. Her hair was wound on the top of her head,
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