While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. ’ He looked the girl up and down. “That’s what you’re going to wear. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house.
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