Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She traced him by his scent. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied.
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