Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. “Why not? It might amuse me. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre.
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