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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Pity?" he laughed brutally. "Wher's the pity? Course it was the women. It's always the women. Set men around a bunch of women and ther's always trouble. It's always been, and it always will be. Ther's no pity about it I can see. We're all made that way, and those who set us on this rotten earth meant it so, or it wouldn't be." The Padre's gray eyes surveyed the narrow face before him.
The vivid stain dyed his fingers and the touch of the warm tide only seemed to add to his terror. He went up to the still form and looked down. Then he backed away, slowly, step by step, but still unable to withdraw his fascinated gaze. Suddenly a cry broke from his lips. It was bitter, heartrending. Then a quick word followed. "Wher's " His question remained uncompleted.
Prethee, good Girle, Be not so cruell to thy aged father To somme up all his miseries before him. Daught. I come, Sir, to entreat your Company. Bar. I am not alone. Daught. My Mother will not eate, Sir. What fitt is this! Bar. There can be no attonement: I know the Prince: Vandort is fleshd upon me, And Bredero, though he be of noble nature, Dare not step in. Wher's my Son William?
If those things had been there they'd ha' been there when Will was found by Doc Say," he cried, turning with inspiration upon Jim, "wher's your knife? You mostly carry one. I see your sheath, but ther' ain't no knife in it." He pointed at the back of Jim's waist, which was turned toward him.
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