Book, Chapter

1    1,  13|    pulled out his tool and gritted out -- If you're a Lucretia,
2    2,  78|  What the hell's next?" he gritted out, "this Syrian dancing-whore
3    3,  83|  faith by this outrage," I gritted out, with a savage frown, "
4    4, 104| voice upon the ship's deck gritted out something like this -- "
5    4, 110|  Hercules: "Tryphaena," he gritted out, his face convulsed
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