The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. He was tall, slender, and suave. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life.
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