" "The link of the chain next the staple is sawn through," said Ireton, stooping to examine Blueskin's fetters. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. His face turned a dark crimson. He was heartily thankful for it. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. “Very well,” he said, “I will go.
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