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McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. "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. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive.
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