"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. His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. My son went down after his death. I've come to take you back home. Sheppard. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;—and I've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality's enough to provoke a saint.
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