He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. "She wouldn't let me go. There never is much left for me. Montressor’s guests.
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