By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. I think not. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. No doubt that was due to his helplessness.
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