Uttering a terrible imprecation, Blueskin placed the knife between his teeth, and endeavoured to seize the poor woman by the throat. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone.
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