The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. Take my word for it, your troubles are over.
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