You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. "It won't do to betray the officer," he muttered.
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