I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. He reached over and took her hand. Well, I'll have a look-see at this young De Maupassant. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within.
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