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" "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “Rather darker than most of them. . ” “It is over for now,” he answered, “but I cannot bear to think that you are subject to this sort of thing. I am a man—of a sort of experience. Get it off your soul. ’ Melusine knew it to be true. ” “Only you won’t let me live. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual.
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