On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. “You say you want a vote,” said Mr. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships.
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