"What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. The storm burst upon them in its fury.
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