The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. He gripped one of her pert nipples with his fingers as he came inside her. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances.
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