He was caked with dried muck. She should have slapped him but she was in shock at her own thoughts of lust that arose. The worst was over now. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it.
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