And many of these deaths could be avoided if it were not for superstition. “Have you killed recently?” He was curious, scared. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. He walked with bent head. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed.
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