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"The bedrooms are very small," said Mr Lawrence, going to the berth that confronted the aftermost end of the cabin table and [Pg 99]opening the door. "But at sea any little hole is good enough to stow oneself away in. Amongst other things, a sailor learns how to sleep, and the habit is so strong with me of slumbering anywhere that if there was room for me I believe I could sleep in a hawse-pipe when the ship is pitching bows under." "The lady, I presume, ate nothing?" "'And the message,' he says, 'this is ut: "Off Gibson's Grove at tin o'clock,"' says he.".
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Conrad
"What dye you want, boy?" Shipley's pipe was alight now and he peered down at Billy through the pungent smoke-wreaths. "All right then, Croaker, I'll call Ringdo, an' feed him your dinner." "He surely did not," answered Cobin. "Nobody knows where he went—nor cares. But nobody can do anythin' with that timber without his sayso. It's a year or more since ol' Scroggie died. People do say that his ghost floats about the old cabin, at nights, but of course that can't be, sir." "Desolation!" he murmured, "desolation! the natural home of ignorance.".
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