‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned.
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