“Sure, I guess so. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. I swear to you, solemnly swear to you, I will save your son's life, nay more, will befriend him, will place him out of the reach of his enemies, if you consent to become my wife. "Well," growled Blueskin, "you've had my offer. But, by Jove! you are fierce! You are like those Roman women who carry stilettos in their hair.
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