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As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. “What can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. I am come to serve you.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 21:54:51