"Out of a family album, you said," Angelina reminded her sister. "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. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. He was no match for Brendon. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike.
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