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Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his head. I wanted you to know. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. “I’m not the Devil. I’ve—dreads.

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This video was uploaded to on 11-07-2024 06:42:52

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