But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. 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. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured.
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