Wood, severely, "and go to bed. Moreover, a souple o' porpusses came up with the tide this mornin', and ha' bin flounderin' about i' the Thames abuv Lunnun Bridge all day long; and them say-monsters, you know, always proves sure fore runners of a gale. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. She donned her gloves. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral.
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