She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. 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. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. “Your coffee’s too good to refuse. Wood.
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