'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. And all the talk of the Miniver people and the Widgett people seemed always to be like a ship in adverse weather on the lee shore of love. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. . You. Montague Hill. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. Let us walk about.
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