To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. His blood would be sweet with it. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. ’ ‘What, for not wanting to marry you?’ ‘Imbecile. ” She gasped. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
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