Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. ‘Dunderhead. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Better come another morning.
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