“I do. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps.
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