“It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. Don't you hear how you've made it cry?" "Throttle the kid!" rejoined Blueskin, fiercely. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Never mind. The lad looked alarmed. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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