Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. She took a deep breath. It was intolerable to think that he might overhear words and phrases. Your maid would not be of the least protection. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily.
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