“How are those books any different from the witchcraft books?” “I dunno. "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine action might give him a hand-hold on life again. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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