But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him.
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