It was Celeste’s idea. You couldn’t help it. Don’t try. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing—rather well. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. Certainly I never met him.
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