We seemed to be pulling uphill every fathom of the way.

The black, oily waves, with their teethlike crests of white, rose above our bow at every stroke of the sweeps, and when I looked behind me it seemed that we must surely be engulfed.
The snow, driven by the wind, swirled in angry blasts, and the damp, cold air chilled us to the bone.

Our greatest danger would be when we came to land at the Bridge stairs, for the tide was pouring in through the arches of the Bridge and was falling in a great cataract just below the foot of the stairs.

One false stroke of Betty's steering oar when we came to land, and our boat would be swamped.

But she clung to the oar and brought us safely to the stairs within a fathom of the breakers.
We ran up Gracious Street and found the girl waiting in Betty's parlor.
But Betty had told us all there was to be learned, so we gave the girl a few shillings and sent her home.
"What shall we do ?" asked Betty, feeling that she had earned a right to couple herself with Hamilton and me by the pronoun "we." "I'll go to see Lilly," said Hamilton.