"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. Taber?" He wondered if this crystal being was interested in that blundering fool who had gone recklessly into the city. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. “I can’t! He appears to be a most immovable person. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. She would end alone.
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