" "Then you are hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. ” “And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?” Courtlaw asked. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white.
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