” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. The chamber rang with her shrieks. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame.
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