There was absolute quiet. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. You are the High Priestess of Life. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head. “How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person.
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