"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. ” “When?” “At tea. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. " With this, he attacked her vigorously in his turn. He backed away from her. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out.
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