She became as The Tigress, a free thing. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. Lives by his wits and gambling.
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