I killed him, Nigel. ’ He called through the library door. Like carpenter, like chips. “I’m not going to kill you, John. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom.
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