Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. Harkee," he added, "Mr. It was time to get up. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please. “I speak from my heart, and you answer from your brain. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. ” “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish.
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