With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. " "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. But I’m always trying to make things happen. " "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her.
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