“Oh, I can’t thank you. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described.
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