She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. He glanced up. She said that she couldn’t stand Mike.
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