The boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. ” “I cannot let you go on,” Ennison interrupted. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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