” She put on a short dress that was sky blue, with thick straps about the shoulders. "These writer chaps are queer birds. Wild, gentlemen, and the nubbin' cheat. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me.
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