Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. “Let me help you,” he begged. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks. It's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. He went on with intense urgency. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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