"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. "Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pineapple rum I opened yesterday. Your life is like a funeral March. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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