Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. No doubt they've all been rejected; but he couldn't throw them overboard. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. S.
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