The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. The arrival of la tante Prudence late next day had changed all this, it is true. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing.
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