Emile’s fist crashed into her temple and stars exploded in her vision. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up.
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