Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. She went to her own table and sat down. 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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