I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. “But your sister,” he said. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. Bête, she told herself fiercely. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner.
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