“Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. Still, I suppose Melusine can always sell the house. 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. "But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me.
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