Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy. 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. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo.
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