"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. Go off and live together—until we can marry. I am too weak to aid you. You shall have room to develop, you shall live as you will, where you will, only give me the right to protect you, to free you from all these petty material cares. ‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head.
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