I've sent for the priest. "Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. Are you prepared to do it?” Her hands clenched. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say.
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