’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. ” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. You are my prisoner, murderer.
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