" Finding it useless to struggle further, Mr. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. This—all this swamps them. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat.
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