Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. I take more than their blood, John.
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