" "I care not why you did it," said Jack, sternly. F. Probably something he had eaten. He made it brief. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green.
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