"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. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. You have to come over to my house. Imagine any one on this side refusing fifty bucks! Well, I'll be toddling along. She stared at his pleading face.
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