She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry. Wood's. Escape was now impossible. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. She did not know herself.
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