His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony.
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