‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. Good night!" "Well, if you won't be persuaded, and must have a boat, Owen," observed the landlord, "there's a waterman asleep on that bench will help you to as tidy a craft as any on the Thames.
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