He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise. " "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand.
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