A nurse came hurrying up. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. S. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Play fair with her. My birthday was on May first.
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