But she did not in the least want to do that. ‘Damnation! Too late. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. \"It's getting late John. And I’d do it again for you if needs be. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents. He was helpful, but gravely dubious.
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