It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. I would have heard her. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm.
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