It was for ever. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. But send me word. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse. My heart misgives me.
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