‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. "You have saved his life," replied Blueskin. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. They sold him the whisky.
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