It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. “You see, I will take your arm. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. Loose the wherry, and stand to your oars—quick—quick!" These commands were promptly obeyed. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. But it's French manners, I suppose.
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