All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense.
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