"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot.
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