At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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