Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. You can trust me, Anna.
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