Which is why I wasn’t able to see him until today. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. With the aid of a penknife he ripped the shoulder seams and drew out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. Had Valade been to see him? Possibly even yesterday when he was followed by some young lad—and the girl, of course. You called yourself a murderess.
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