A terrible spectacle was presented to the young man's gaze:—the floor deluged with blood—the mangled and lifeless body of Mrs. A. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. “To my chagrin, I have. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. In a sense I don’t care.
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