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. "I am, Charcoal. Vorsack echoed him. He's on the ragged edge. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. The other lay unconscious in a heap. And immeasurable was the calm evolved from this knowledge. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered.
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