"It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. ’ ‘You see,’ Melusine explained between mouthfuls of food, ‘poor Marthe had promised to my father that she will say nothing. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. He nodded.
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