The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. ‘Major, sir!’ The major appeared so swiftly that Melusine was instantly suspicious.
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