A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. I’ll take over here.
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