"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. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. I’ll try to stay as long as I can. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. .
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