"It must look sharp then, or I shall give it the slip," laughed Ben: "the gale never yet blowed as could perwent my crossing the Thames. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this.
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