He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well.
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