I saw him lying on the footway. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe.
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