He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair. I love you more. I did not reckon upon—him. I got myself locked up to cool off. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. ” Anna was thoughtful. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. ’ ‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned. H’m.
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