“I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Afraid there'll be a love-affair.
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