“It’s jolly,” he said, “to feel you have come to me. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. A few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party—with the exception of Quilt, who was left on shore —embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream—for the tide was in its favour—by a couple of watermen. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once.
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