The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Paul's are his work. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. But I shan't let him off thus.
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