The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. “I’ll be here at one in the morning. In the upper hall he paused to listen. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar.
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