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. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. Her husband finally relented. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped.
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