Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. She sat herself upon the bed. “I’m not the Devil. " Blueskin nodded, and left the room. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. There was a case, or something, some years ago.
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