‘Cover her, men. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Lucy stared like an automaton at Michelle’s unconscious 262 body, revolted at her own actions to the point of shock.
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