With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. Without a single ornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily the most noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room.
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