We’d soon cool that temper of yours. . " Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. “But I am your husband,” he said.
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