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The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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