"Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him.
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