"We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot. They crossed the Channel in sunshine and a breeze that just ruffled the sea to glittering scales of silver. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. She was suddenly grave. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance.
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