“But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. He would pull this young fellow back; but later he knew that he would have to fight the boy's lack of will to live. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. “That’s enough, Michelle!” Diane snapped in the ugly raised voice of the enforcer. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. Your life is like a funeral March. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon.
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