\" Michelle's eyes leveled on him dramatically. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. ’ The possibility was indeed remote, for there had been no trouble with France since the Peace of Versailles had been signed six years ago. And many of these deaths could be avoided if it were not for superstition.
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