Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. "I have baffled you. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. They went to the Zoological Gardens together one Saturday to see for themselves a point of morphological interest about the toucan’s bill—that friendly and entertaining bird—and they spent the rest of the afternoon walking about and elaborating in general terms this theme and the superiority of intellectual fellowship to all merely passionate relationships. But he has never been near her—never.
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