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"God love ye, byes," he cried, "it's a foine pair ye are, an' no mistake; so it's sick y've been, Maurice?" And the worthy old sailor chuckled heartily from his throat to the bottom of his waistcoat. "I'm glad you told me, Billy," she said. "I—I hoped you might.".
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Conrad
"I do not ask you to sing," he said. "Give me but a word, give me but a look. You tear my heart by this behaviour." "Great Scott! Bill, you mean to say it got ol' Harry?" "We are the brig Louisa Ann of Whitby from Callao, one hundred and seventy days out, bound to the port we belongs to. We are short of provisions, and should feel grateful if you could let us have a cask of beef." "Billy," she spoke again, "are you sick?".
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