The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. ” “Rum,” said Ann Veronica. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air.
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