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. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. She paused. The others hurried to the window. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park.
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