He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. The first Step towards the Ladder. She had looked forward to an explanation. " And running on in this way, he carefully concealed the tools. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. He was snoring stupidly. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work.
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