She quickly strangled him with the piano wire as he looked at her, his lips open as if to scream, but his larynx had been intentionally sliced. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still.
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