" "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. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. Play foul, and win. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay.
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