Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him. She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour.
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