“Hold on, she’s right here. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him.
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