‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate.
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