"Safe!" shouted Darrell, as he effected a secure landing. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment. They are not your flowers. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse.
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