She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. Jackson, to the swig. CHAPTER I.
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