CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. It’s gone. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr.
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