We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. " The hint was not lost upon Wood. ” He replied. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. ’ A question leapt into Everett’s head and he recalled the letter to the Abbess. The pistol fell to the floor. Everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber.
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