6. . I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him.
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