When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. Very well. . ” She looked away from him.
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