” “Clear out?” cried Hetty. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. “You need a reason. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. ” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything.
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