" Downstairs he sought the hotel manager. He felt the first sting of the whip. “You are very good,” she said. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. No tricks would serve. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called.
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