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. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. . How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather.
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