When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. ” Lucy chuckled at the sacrilegious comment, though it was a very old one. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards.
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