"Now's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. She cocked her head. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. On the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at Wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off.
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