That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. I’M shaken. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife.
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