So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. She would have to move on to a more lawless country soon, Mexico, Columbia, then cross the sea where she could eventually return to the chaos of Eastern Europe and the Russias. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. “Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. Michelle walked towards the sloping Victorian stairs.
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