." And they'll cut off your head," I muttered bitterly."Monsieur! This isn't a joke!" And it isn't intended that way." I griped, sullen and resentful...."It's true. They'll bake your flesh into tiny meat pies. They'll strip you of your clothes, baste your skin and roast you over a wood fire. You see, I don't run from such talk as you do because I know what I am, what I do. It displeases me and I loathe myself, but for better or worse, I'll always be the monster who ate the corpses of dead. It was partly his disability, partly her generosity, sensitivity and skill, and his heart was full. She immediately left the piano and came to him, enveloping him in her arms, his head against her breasts, kissing his forehead."Why didn't I know how well you play?" he haltingly asked when he was more under control. "You can play far better than I can!" I don't know," she replied. "I felt shy I think. I used to play when you weren't at home."'You can play as often as you like, you're so. More

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