He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being.
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