The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. I heard only after it was all over.
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