I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. 5. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. Yet there was nothing for her to do. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. . She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Brendon was silent. " "It is life.
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