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She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill. ‘Wait! No time for that. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory.
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