Wood brought up. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers.
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