"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. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. Brendon always comes home with me, and tonight both are away. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. Wood by increased corpulence and decreased powers of vision,—by deeper wrinkles and higher shoulders, by scantier breath and a fuller habit. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all.
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