But he did not follow on with the thought. " "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. Mademoiselle has had no harm of me,’ Gerald said soothingly and bowed. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all.
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