His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. ‘But she will not shoot you,’ Melusine told him flatly. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice.
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