What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. He felt her observance and warmed to it.
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