Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night.
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