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My trouble is with your sister. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. " "But, Mr. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. ” She said as the car stopped. No more. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of. But she has let fall enough for me to understand that she knows about her father’s misdeeds.
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