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"But you don't say you were paid to do so," answered Greyquill. He gazed at the sleeping figure for two or[Pg 307] three minutes and then left, again locking the door. He entered his own cabin and stretched his form along the lower bunk; but used as he was to sleep well in an hour betwixt one scene of slaughter, of belching broadsides, of fierce and murderous boarding and another scene scarred by the cannon flame, terrible with its thunder of guns whose muzzles yawned close to the muzzles of the foe, slumber was not to be his. "You seem to have managed the stringin' all right," said the father, examining the wooden ducks on the work bench. "A little too much white on the bluebills, I'd say.".
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"Say," said the man as Billy came up, "you know when ducks put on an extra coverin' of feathers a hard winter is in sight? Well, by gosh, these birds have all put on an extra undershirt. Look," holding the duck in his hands up for inspection. "How's that for a coat o' down?" "Mr Lawrence has a beautiful voice," said[Pg 78] Lucy. "How touchingly he sang 'Tom Bowling'!" He snatched up the demijohn and went into the store. Old Harry sat down on the bench and waited until he returned. The man was almost a caricature owing to malformation and other deformities. His red hair flamed; he was hunched, his arms were as long as a baboon's and seemed designed for climbing. His legs were arched and at the same time crooked at the knees, so that he appeared to be stooping whether he walked or stood, and to complete the suggestion of his origin he had a trick of scratching himself like a monkey. He was about twenty-five years of age. Whose son he was he could not have told. He preeminently belonged to the parish..
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