‘If he needed sanctuary, it raises grave doubts about his activities. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. “He says you are frigid, Madame. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Blueskin and the Minters were dragging Wood to the pump.
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