"You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. And that’s why I’m at your service. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck.
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