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‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. Luckily I’m not. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged.

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