He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. 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. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. They parked a block away from Michelle’s house in the opposite direction of where the Beck’s lived. .
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