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"I can see a good bit, your honour." "Gosh! ain't he a terror?" Maurice exclaimed. "Say, why don't you put him in the menagerie?" For some time after he had closed his knife and fork he sat at table shading and supporting his forehead with his hand, his elbow resting, and deep thought was in his attitude. To one who knew his story he submitted a picture for memory to cherish. Night was near, though not yet come, but[Pg 299] its shadow was upon the ship, and three or four stars like little balls of quicksilver ran to and fro athwart the gleaming black panes of the skylight glass. The hum of a steady breeze in the stout shrouds, in the cat-harpings, in the drumming hollow of many sails sounded like the strains of an organ muffled to the ear by the walls of the church that holds it. The low thunder of the surge washing past the ship was as constant as its accompaniment of the concert of creakings, jarrings, shocks in bulkhead, rudder-post and strong fastenings..

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"Why, yes, of course." "Yep." "You're right, Deacon," spoke Cobin Keeler. And the worthy old lady's eyes grew dim as she pronounced the words "our Lucy.".