His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. She had trembled on the verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made it. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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