" "Ah, yes; that coat. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face.
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