The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines. He noticed the two chairs close together. “I’ll turn you here. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn.
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