" "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. We men are like children. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers.
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