"First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. “Then some of your family history is known to me. She still had her letter of credit. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. She dare not risk it.
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