" "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. She was by his side. The imbecile. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.
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