"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. "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. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. She rested her head upon his shoulder. Come back—you must come back.
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