'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him.
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