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"I can make no other answer than this, ma'am," said Captain Weaver. "Suppose she was down on the wharves between half-past seven and eight. Most of the labourers would have been away breakfasting. The few that hung about might not have taken any notice of her, or if one or two did, then they are people we didn't come across to question. Most of the men on board the ships in the Harbour would be in their foc'sles breakfasting and smoking and the like, and those that were on deck, and few enough at that hour, might be thinking of other things than people who were passing by. I don't see how else Miss Lucy Acton's not being seen or noticed can be accounted for." "Did she look at you when you entered?" Mrs. Keeler looked at her sagely. "Erie would never marry any man like Hinter," she asserted..
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"That's Anson's coat all right," she affirmed. "Now twist about so's I kin see them hip pockets in the pants." Softly the last note died, and then the player emerged from the grove. He was little and bent. He wore a ragged suit of corduroys and a battered felt hat with a red feather stuck jauntily in its band. His face was small, dark, and unshaven. In one grimy hand he carried a small demijohn. Arriving opposite Caleb, he lifted his battered hat and bowed low as a courtier would do. "But this beggar is coiled," cried his friend. "If he strikes you, he'll rip you wide open with his horny nose. Don't go, Bill." "You have been half-starved in that brig," said Captain Acton, searching his daughter's face, and running his eyes over her dress..
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