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It was apparently a morning half-holiday with Old Harbour Town. Groups stood or walked about the wharves in talk. Most of the people respectfully saluted the ladies and the Admiral, who, one or another, had for every other person a kindly sentence or a pleasant smile. Standing in the gangway of the Minorca was Mr Lawrence, who had manifestly seen the party approaching, though himself had been hidden from them by the interposition of the main shrouds. He crossed the planks which connected the ship with the shore, and stood with his hat in his hand as though they were royalty. "Don't need to take mine," Billy informed him. "What's the use of me takin' any; ain't one bad cough enough?" "Who?".
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Conrad
Billy threw back his head and laughed, the first hearty laugh he had known for days. Scroggie, in spite of the pain his swollen lips caused him, laughed too. "No, on the shore, Miss," said the Admiral. "A French corsair was chased ashore about five miles up and burnt." The deacon stood perplexedly scratching his head. Then he started forward on a run to tell those who had planned with him a little surprise gift for the fishermen of the perfidy of human nature. "Old Scroggie's ghost huntin' fer the lost money," whispered Walter, "Oh, gosh! let's leg it!'.
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