Besides, it was under false pretences. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. Presently he turned to Courtlaw. "Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. I’m leaving you, and you can’t stop me. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t.
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