‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head.
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