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“Do you know what you look like, Maida?” Rosie said once. Before Maida could answer, she went on. “You look like that little mermaid princess in Anderson’s fairy tales—the one who had to suffer so to get legs like mortals.” “Do I?” Maida laughed. “Now isn’t it strange I have always thought that you look like somebody in a fairy tale, too.
Like silent machines they worked, grimly hacking and tearing at the third cable. During half an hour they laboured, but the fire from behind the lighthouse was too deadly, and, reluctantly, at Lieutenant Anderson’s signal, the cable was dropped and the boats retreated. The work had lasted two hours and a half.
He also took kindly to that innocuous beverage, lager bier, which was a good sign in itself, inasmuch as he had, for a few days, been drinking as many varieties of strong drinks, as if he’d been brought up on Professor Anderson’s Inexhaustible Bottle, and had never overcome the influences of his infant education.
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