Forthwith he presented his card. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it.
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