I need you every day. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. The less she lived, in fact, the better.
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