Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. "Saved!" "Ay, ay, it's all bob, my covey! You're safe enough, that's certain!" responded the Minters, baying, yelping, leaping, and howling around him like a pack of hounds when the huntsman is beating cover; "but, where are the lurchers?" "Who?" asked Wood.
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