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With another man it might have meant much; but she had heard of Charles and his misdoings long before she had met him, and knew what to expect. Lord Breakwater's sister had confided to her many things respecting him, and had wept bitter tears on her shoulder, when he suddenly went off to shoot grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains.
But neither Miss Louisa Smith, with her bun and sandwich ancestry, nor the eighth Lord Breakwater's young and lovely sister, though both willing to undertake the situation, were either of them finally offered it. Charles remained free as air, and a dreadful stigma gradually attached to him as a heartless flirt and a perverter of young girls' minds from men of more solid worth.
"There was no question, either, that he spoke sense. 'But where? I shouted at him. 'Drake's Island? . . . And who's to do it, even so? "'The anchorage is crowded under Drake's Island, he shouted back. 'It's the devil-among-the-tailors we'd play there, if we ever fetched. . . . Breakwater's no shelter either.
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