Senior year started with a whimper. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. I hope that she is okay. “No! My father. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven. Only my father he is also of a disposition extremely stupide. And I’m afraid. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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