The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Remember that he’s not at all a bad sort, and to speak frankly, he’s your salvation. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair.
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