“The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. This charming episode was repeated three times. “Shit happens, John.
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