"These writer chaps are queer birds. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this.
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