"I have killed her," cried Jack. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. What is done cannot be undone. Mischief bubbled up in her. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking.
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