“We should get out of here. And then you go—and half throttle me. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me. An ancient smile lay on his lips. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia.
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