"And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. ‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. ‘Precisely.
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