Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. Most women of great physical beauty are flawed, and their flaw is that they are dense with no ability to perceive or retain true knowledge.
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