A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. “For luck. Let alone a girl. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression.
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