She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. Why is the door fastened? Open it directly!" "Are you alone?" asked Jack, mimicking the voice of Kneebone.
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