So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. There was a stain of wine upon her dress.
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