He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. "I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt.
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