"What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. 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. Have
you not tired of sadness and pain?”
81
She thought she could hear tears in his voice but
would not look at him. Never! Perhaps some day,
quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. ”
“Before that it was six months with the Monroes who
had five other children besides me, three of them under
the age of five. She had killed the McCloskeys after they
had witnessed her making a kill. "
At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's
brow. Like carpenter, like chips. She threw him his car keys. The clouds
were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in
daggers and torrents. ’ He sighed. But shortly this
movement ceased.
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