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"Halloa!" exclaimed Austin, who had caught a glimpse of her departing figure, "one of the women is gone!" "No—no," hastily interposed Mrs. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. “Now replace the stone, my child. David Courtlaw.
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