As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. ” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely. ’ She spread her hands. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head.
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