They sold him the whisky. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. He must be gone to dispose of the body. And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation.
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