"In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. " So saying, he descended a short spiral staircase, and, entering a long stone gallery, from which several other passages branched, took one of them, and after various turnings—for he was familiar with all the intricacies of the prison— arrived at the cell of which he was in search. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. He had been formally adopted by the Becks at the age of twelve.
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