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Nobody stood. Anson was on the point of jumping to his feet and telling who had brought the sulphur into the room but, on second thought, sat still. The teacher had asked who had put it in the stove. Certainly it had not been Fatty Watland, because he had gone on an errand for the teacher long before the fire was started. "How many?" whispered Stanhope. "If Lucy and I should take the trip we should go in the Aurora," said Captain Acton..
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Conrad
Recovery of the stolen goods caused considerable excitement in the Settlement. For a week or so nothing else was talked of and conjecture ran rife as to why the thieves had not made off with their pillage rather than hide it in the haunted house. Harry O'Dule came in for a plenty of praise for the part he had played in finding the loot but beyond hinting that the job had been more than easy for the seventh son of a seventh son, he was reticent on the subject. That he should have returned the liquor almost intact, to the owner, was a conundrum to all who knew him, with the exception of Billy and Maurice. "It seemed longer than that to me, Billy," laughed Stanhope. "Once or twice I thought we were goners, but you pulled the old girl through nobly." "Well, what of it? Maurice found him a soft hidin' place and good pasture on his Dad's farm, didn't he?" He was Mr Walter Lawrence, a son of Admiral Lawrence, and down to a recent period a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He was something over thirty years of age, but drink, dissipation, the hard life of the sea and some fever which had got into his blood and proved intermittent, had worked in his face like time, and he might have passed for any age between thirty-five and forty-five. Nevertheless he was an extremely handsome man, of the classic Greek type in lineament, but improved, at least to the British eye, by the Saxon colouring of hair, skin, and eyes. His teeth were extraordinarily white and good for a sailor who had lived on gun-room fare in times when the ship's biscuit was flint, and the peas which rolled about in the discoloured hot water called soup, fit only for loading a blunderbuss with to shoot men dead. His eyes told their tale of drink, but they were large and fine and spirited; his light brown hair, according to the fashion of[Pg 39] the age, was combed down his back and lay in a rope-shaped tail there. He wore a wide-brimmed round hat, and his attire, a little the worse for wear, consisted of a blue coat, white waistcoat, sage-green kerseymere breeches, and, needless to say, the cravat was high and full. He stood about six feet, his figure was extremely well proportioned, and in addition to these merits his carriage had the easy elegance which the flow of the billow and the heave of the deck infuse into all human figures not radically vile and deformed. His voice was soft, winning, and somewhat plaintive, and no man, whether on or off the stage, not even Incledon, sang a song with more exquisite feeling and sweeter sincerity of passion..
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