A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. Earles was absolutely indifferent. F. "Drink this, then," roared Blueskin.
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