For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. " "What is this to me, Sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. Wily little devil she is. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. " Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me.
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