Give me your hand. His fingers closed upon her hand. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love.
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