They turned the corner that joined Michelle's street to her own. "Come Bess,—no whimpering. You're Mister Wild's pris'ner, and worse luck to it!" "I don't ask you to liberate me," urged Thames; "but will you convey a message for me?" "Where to, honey?" "To Mr. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. Get the men back to their posts. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months.
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