They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. "Heaven be praised she knows me at last. You might get faint, but you can fight it. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. Kneebone," she added, drawing up her magnificent figure to its full height, and making the heavy cudgel whistle through the air, "look to yourself. He brought into service all his Oriental bar-room tricks. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear.
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