His literary instincts began to stir. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just have to accept it. Lucy had tried for years to find a way of not getting blood all over herself when she made a kill. ’ Kimble frowned direfully, staring at the weapon with its gold hilt and decorative pattern down the blade. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly. As far as I recollect, there were two.
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