I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. “Call me Cathy, John. The noise was raucous. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble. You will find proofs of the bloody deed in his room.
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