A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. “Well, I don’t feel like standing it. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. He was followed by a great pile of black organs, hers, her female parts. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. " "Give me the brandy, and I'll tell you," replied Wood. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted.
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