CHAPTER XXVI. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. " "Footsteps are approaching," cried Thames. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Deny me, if you please. . My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. .
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