" "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. "Tell me that, and I will believe you.
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