Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. One learns to sit up. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain.
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