” Ogilvy reflected. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. She ignored his question. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. For she and this old lady became at once friends. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction.
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