"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. His complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though Mr. ” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard. He became a little less en garde. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand.
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