It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. "The part was crooked," she explained. " "I ondershtand," replied the skipper, putting his finger to his nose; "it shall be done. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it.
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