Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. After that consolations fled. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. Another long interval elapsed. Roof open —like a Noah’s Ark.
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