” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber.
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