‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Perhaps she was. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. It proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the features remaining.
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