When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance.
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