"I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. It took my breath away. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. To-morrow they will know the truth.
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