The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. A lucky escape. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. ’ ‘Melusine,’ shrieked the nun. ‘Whereas my need was very great indeed.
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