The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. "Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. "I've proofs to the contrary," replied Jonathan. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think.
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