Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words.
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