I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. He gave you a poison. Bête, she told herself fiercely. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment.
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