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She flashed her hands to her forehead, sobs seemed to shake her, she turned on her heel and went to the big stern window, and looked out upon the sea. "Would not you like to take a trip to the West Indies in your father's ship, Miss?" said the Reverend James Prettyman, who had[Pg 160] been headmaster at a fashionable school for young gentlemen for many years past in a city about twenty miles distant from Old Harbour Town. "Fisherman Shipley wanted to buy a cow from me on time," he said. "I refused him. If you don't mind, Deacon, I'll lead her down behind your wagon tomorrow.".
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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. "And you made Mr Lawrence afraid of you?" said Sir William. "But where's Bill? Ain't he agoin?" Anson nodded..
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