Wood turned to look at him. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. ‘You’re right. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. "And now, mark me. Don't be frightened of her.
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