It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. The former was shot by Blueskin through the head, and his body fell over the bannisters. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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