” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything. There you are, the best client’s chair. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. "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.
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