Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. It was so easy to forget the imminent threats of being discovered during times of peace. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. “Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said.
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