It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. " "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “This girl—she’s really a very charming, frank person—had had her imagination fired, so she told me, by a school performance of Romeo and Juliet.
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