She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. ” The three men, who had arrived within a minute or two of one another, received her little speech in dead silence. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux.
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