. God, we suck. Only your pa knew as how I were the one as saw to you at the wet-nurse’s cottage, and he got a-hold of me and made me bring him to you. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. Sydney was watching her eagerly. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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