Probably a sick man's whim. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene.
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