Their conversation became stilted. . ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. Mrs. Jack did not advance to meet her. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered.
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