You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch.
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