What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. Probably a sick man's whim. ’ He slid slowly down and collapsed to the stone floor, fainting dead away. ’ Baring his teeth in a smile of triumph that was every bit an animal snarl, and leaping up onto the seat of the pew he was in, he jumped hazardously to the next. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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