Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. . It’s—it’s a serious prohibition. "I can't say I do," replied Wood. E. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly.
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