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Chapter 38 - Thirty Eight
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... ously hungry. She took a delicate, ladylike, and utterly triumphant bite of her kipper. She allowed her gaze, just for a moment, to slide over her "opponent."
Carcel looked dreadful.
He was still pale, his eyes were still red-rimmed, and he had abandoned his cold, offensive tea in favor of a glass of water, which he was nursing as if it were his last worldly possession. He was, she noted with a thrill of delight, the very picture of a man in torment. A dark, brooding, haunted man ...
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