"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that. He fixed it. Let alone a girl. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. "What of that," rejoined Jonathan.
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