She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. Stanley. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
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