“Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather than let it speak her mother's infamy. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. If we were set upon I could not defend you. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp.
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