‘Quite mad, nuns are. 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 don’t mean you no harm. But you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden. It was still possible the child might be in safety. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband.
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