‘Poor things. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. ” She replied. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed.
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