Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. ‘She may well try to go back. Look at it, I say. I don’t think women need to trouble about political questions. He was bewildered. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. ’ Her hand shook as he took it in his, and she uttered involuntarily, ‘Oh, it was so horrible! They came like animals, with long knives that they use to cut grass, and heavy clubs. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it.
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