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“We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. She was finally dead, going to Hell.
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