"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated.
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