He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood.
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