He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. Death belongs to God, young man. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one.
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