‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone.
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