Drink the toast, Jack. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright.
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