The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them.
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