This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp.
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