The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. " "You are right," replied Darrell; "the weakness is past. “It isn’t anything to do with our times particularly. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. ’ ‘Prudence,’ repeated Gerald unguardedly.
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