"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. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. ‘But you know everything now,’ protested Hilary, keeping pace as Gerald took the stairs two at a time. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees.
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