Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. ‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd.
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