"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. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. May we not repeat them once, at any rate, in London? “Ever yours, “NIGEL ENNISON. "What's the matter with the man?" demanded Wild.
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