The vicar held the boat firmly against the camshot, while I, at the
imminent risk of joining them (I shall not forget the combined expression
of Miss Alice's retreating eyes and the malicious corners of her mouth)
hoisted the lady in, and the river with her. From the seat of the boat
she stood sufficiently high to project the step towards land without
peril. When she had set her foot there, we all assumed an attitude of
respectful attention, and the vicar, who could soar over calamity like a
fairweather swallow, acknowledged the return of his wife to the element
with a series of apologetic yesses and short coughings.
'That would furnish a good concert for the poets,' he remarked. 'A
parting, a separation of lovers; "even as a body from the watertorn," or
"from the water plucked"; eh? do you think--"so I weep round her, tearful
in her track," an excellent--'
But the outraged woman, dripping in grievous discomfort above him, made a
peremptory gesture.
'Mr. Amble, will you come on shore instantly, I have borne with your
stupidity long enough.
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