It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. “I am. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration.
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