And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. But she was not sure just how to reach it. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. 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.
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