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“Your father is dying.” “Drat!” said the Prince. “That means I shall have to get married.”
“I don’t like killing a girl,” the Spaniard said. “God does it all the time; if it doesn’t bother Him, don’t let it worry you.”
Buttercup had simply let her attention wander for a moment, the ground seemed solid enough, and she had no idea what Snow Sand looked like anyway; but once her front foot began to sink in, she could not pull back, and even before she could scream, she was gone. It was like falling through a cloud. The sand was the finest in the world, and there was no bulk to it whatsoever, and, at first, no unpleasantness. She was just falling, gently, through this soft powdery mass, falling farther and farther from anything resembling life, but she could not allow herself to panic. Westley had instructed her
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Because when she died of murder on their wedding night, it was crucial that all Florin realize the depth of his love, the epochal size of his loss, since then no one would dare hesitate to follow him in the revenge war he was to launch against Guilder.
WHAT
“Well? Do you think I’m throwing myself at him?”
“I just feel so safe with you,” Fezzik said,
