From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. 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.
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