"On the way to the cutters," said Ah Cum. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. He refused. Spurlock bent his head to his knees. But one of these days everything will click back into place. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him.
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