He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. Sometimes ships would stop three or four days for water and repairs; and the men would carouse in the back room at Morgan's. Thank goodness you’ll understand.
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