A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. The Bitchster strikes again. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone.
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