‘Didn’t mean to say that. No; she'd never go back. Wood. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. She could neither speak nor move nor cry out. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not.
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