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His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. “There are a good many Whites in London. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. . ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. The thought of beauty became an obsession. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay.
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