The only mercy you can show me is to kill me. She felt like a dried-up old woman. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. ‘You seem to understand the gentry very well.
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