"Put about, waterman, for God's sake!" cried Wood, whose humanity got the better of every personal consideration; "some one is overboard. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes.
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