Her head rose. ‘I’m taking you to Gerald, my girl. \" She thought of her kill. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere.
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