He lay stretched out on a dirty, decomposed matress in the middle of the damp floor. His head was feverish and prespiring; his blood buring hellishly through his veins as he thought of who would be next.
"Who will it be this time?" he thought to himself. "A man, a woman, a child?"
His palms were sweating monotanously, as his blood began to boil and his eyes twitched with utter maddness.
"And there will be blood," he said aloud to himself. Then he smiled wickedly and laughed.
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