‘This we will leave. Coolly and gingerly, she kissed it as it stood at its hard angle from his body. The ragged edge. The executioner shook his head. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good.
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