“Well?” she said. Irreton. Uttering a terrible imprecation, Blueskin placed the knife between his teeth, and endeavoured to seize the poor woman by the throat. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. Hill lost a little of his truculency. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. She could tell that he probably wanted to kiss her, but she did not act upon the opportunity.
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