The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. The day had become suddenly overcast. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford.
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