Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. The thing is done. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last.
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