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"First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. Then you will begin to see. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. The major’s hand stilled. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. "Good night. " "Is he alive!" vociferated Trenchard. " "What right have you to suppose this, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, sternly. The man’s passion was infectious. After that consolations fled.
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