I didn't think. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. The blood will rest on your head.
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