The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. The captain saw it too and nodded at the boy. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Give me your hand. Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Still, it was true about men. Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl.
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