"Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. .
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