She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. " "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had enough.
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