She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. ‘Typical.
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