" "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 held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry.
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