“We are clerks in the same bank. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. He had taken it back. This vessel is now in the river, off Wapping. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness.
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