Mr. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Withdrawing another bolt, and unhooking a chain suspended from the top of the casement, Jonathan pushed the iron framework outwards. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose.
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