His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon
the pavement. He loaded
the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home
immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred
and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered
sawdust pit. Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his vision;
and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open
door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and instantly darted through it. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his
attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet,
life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. ‘Oh, famous. My only
love is for my poor lost son.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 27-06-2024 11:32:49