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Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. He was in the house with his mother. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. In an instant, she turned on him. One or the other. Oh God! pardon me. Besides those whom I've slain with my own hands, I've brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows.
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