‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. During this movement, Jack grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to Blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still. She covered herself with her arms. You cannot—shall not retreat. I arranged that he should.
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