" "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. “Forty guineas a week. I’ll feel fine as soon as I get out of my wet clothes. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’ ‘I had no such intention. ‘Yes, I know. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you.
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