Give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from Wood. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. I guess they were bad all the time. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. "I alone am to blame.
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