His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. It was Blueskin. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. "And will swear to it?" "I will. ’ ‘I do. "Well?" he whispered. There was plenty of sweet water.
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