Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. "I'll show you Captain Sheppard, my dear. He hated himself a little for it. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. His frowning gaze came back to her.
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