The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet. 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. "I yield to fate. The Bitchster strikes again. ‘Tee-ree-sa. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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