“You’re kidding, right?” “Not kidding at all. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. Predictably, Charvill turned on him.
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