” She said mournfully. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. If he wants you, let him get you. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. The ring's yours, and you're mine. ’ A laugh escaped her. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes.
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