“Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua.
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