’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. "Fear!" echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,—"fear! Repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you. But, you see, she HAS to lie up.
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