Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. "I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright.
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