The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. "What I do is for the best, and I can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation. The annihilation of the Terror which fascinated her and troubled her dreams o' nights.
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