Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. Let me bind you up, and then you can attend to her. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. The policy of this step was immediately apparent. After that consolations fled.
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