The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. " "Ah. "A little, Sir," replied the executioner, with a grim smile. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now.
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