'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. If you do not find your aunt, my people will take you under wing until you can stand on your own. ‘Certainly you must have seen her. Silken open robes over full tiffany petticoats in a contrasting colour were, Lucy assured him, of the very latest Parisian design, cut by the finest French tailors. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax.
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