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‘Not where we’re going. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. 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. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. “It is true.
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