“The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you. Oh God! pardon me. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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