She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. "Silence!" returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh.
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