“But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. . But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins.
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