They were sitting alone, Lucy. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English.
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