"See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. A few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party—with the exception of Quilt, who was left on shore —embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream—for the tide was in its favour—by a couple of watermen. How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir. White. . Her unnatural calm was giving way. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all.
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