She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. I'm safe enough if you hold your tongue. I'm going to be frank; we must have a clear understanding. " "Mercy!" cried Mrs. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God.
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