She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. "It must look sharp then, or I shall give it the slip," laughed Ben: "the gale never yet blowed as could perwent my crossing the Thames. " After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly.
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