’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained. I could be presented as Meysey Hill. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. Women are not in the world in the same sense that men are—fighting individuals in a scramble. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew. The man was mad to marry me. "I cannot climb the boat. So that way is closed.
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