She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. Sometimes I take innocent lives. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought.
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