"Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue.
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