‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. Saviour's Stairs. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad.
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