The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Everything. \" She thought of her kill.
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