’ She shrugged. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him. She did not try to approach him. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. At least for one moment, it was. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging.
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