“Because I hate you!” She spat. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. But this wild scheme was speedily abandoned; and, nerved by despair, the carpenter resolved to hazard an attempt, from the execution, almost from the contemplation, of which he had hitherto shrunk. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. ’ ‘A pretty tale.
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