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"The frigate has hoisted her signal, sir," he said, "and we have made ours." "Well, there's the Proctors, five families of 'em an' every last one of 'em a brother to the other." "Erie out in her boat?" he asked, casually. "I don't hear her voice, or her whistle.".

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He led the way up the companion ladder. But this sort of argument did not fall within the frame of Mr Greyquill's picture of integrity. It was a letter lying ready for anybody's hand in a public way; next, it was not addressed; third, it was not signed; and fourth, though the contents were apparently in Mr Lawrence's handwriting, yet some people did write, as Greyquill knew, so wonderfully alike that there was no reason to conclude without strong internal evidence that the letter Mr Greyquill held was written by Mr Lawrence. Whatever else it was, it was certainly a draft roughly pencilled of a letter that had been copied in ink and no doubt despatched. Here and there was an erasure in ink, which proved that it had been copied in ink and corrected in certain places by the pen that was transcribing it. He had not proceeded far when his eyebrows, which, as we have heard, inimitably expressed the aspect of two white mice, arched their backs to an extraordinary degree as though in imitation of a cat when enraged; his mouth took on the posture of a whistle; with his eyes rooted to[Pg 140] the sheet he stopped and scratched his head until he nearly tumbled his hat into the road. Mr. Keeler was leaning across the back of the long seat, smiling commendingly upon him. "It is not only drink," said Miss Acton. "They tell me he is accustomed to bet very heavily.".