‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Uttering a terrible imprecation, Blueskin placed the knife between his teeth, and endeavoured to seize the poor woman by the throat. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. ‘He was very kind to me.
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