"There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. "Ho, no," replied Jack. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. Then she took her sister’s hand. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all.
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