She was honest again. The tropical dawn is swift. 5. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. āIād rather go as a chorus-girl,ā she said. 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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