“I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. This was enough for the poor widow. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. ’ About to hurry from the little parlour, Melusine remembered Mrs Ibstock. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. ” “I’ve been certain of it for years. Mr. ” “Don’t let there be any more.
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