His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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