Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. "But, pardon my intrusion. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely.
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