The Devil Is a Killer

Heathclith is clearly on the verge of madness. He was so last night, at least. I shuddered to be near him and thought on the servant's ill-bred moroceness as comparatively agreeable. But he now recommenced his moody walk, and I escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it,. A wooden bowl of oat-meals stood close by. The contents of the pan began to boil, and he turned to plunge his hand into the bowl. It dares to be fresh authorings. Just when I gettin' used to tool-masters, if I'm one ever