The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live. And, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat. ‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths.
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