You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “He just wants to get laid, you know. “They might do you good,” she remarked. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. And lunged once more.
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