Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. " Taking Jack into a shed behind the workshop the smith in a short time freed him from his fetters. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. Taber is the name.
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