Enfeebled by his wound, Wild had lost much of his strength, though nothing of his ferocity and energy,—and fiercely assailing Blueskin, he made a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to apprehend him. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. He suggested they take the remains of the household to his country estate, where he could at least hunt through the winter to provide them venison and grouse. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. ‘That’s just it. But she did not in the least want to do that. And then I came here. It’s one of our conventional superstitions.
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