"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. “But we only aid the beccamorti by giving them our business! I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for wood coffins and burial for lesser servants who could just as easily be dragged into the pit! Let the dead bury the dead!” “You fool! It is the gross lack of sanitation you speak of that has brought us to this very end.
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