“So you’re the one my son has been talking about. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. “But—your people!” she gasped. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. " "For procuring my imprisonment?" "For saving your life. " "Very well. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden.
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