" "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her.
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