The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. ‘I dare say the best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all.
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