She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Sometimes ships would stop three or four days for water and repairs; and the men would carouse in the back room at Morgan's. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. Wood, popping her head through the window. I’ve got a streak of male.
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