The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated to deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me; but it was of no avail—I couldn't obtain a hearing. . . Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. ’ ‘Forgive me, but if that is the case, I don’t quite see why you should run away. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said.
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