My wife—killed me. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. “Oh, damn!” he said. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare. "I am twenty," said the girl. .
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