" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. " "Where—where?" cried Thames. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. “Bless you, sweetheart.
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