"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. He showed me a black mark under his ear, where the noose would be tied. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. " "Couldn't … couldn't I go with you this afternoon?" "Too hot. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours.
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