Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her.
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