Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. ’ ‘Ah, but I’m thinking as how this here house ain’t the best spot for an operation of that kind, missie,’ explained the sergeant, and Melusine noted that his men exchanged anguished glances. David left this afternoon. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. It was neither good nor bad.
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