“Thank you, ma’am. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. 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. He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet.
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