"'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 17-09-2024 05:55:31
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