Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. \" \"Oh, that is pretty. ” “Nice clean hardness, anyhow. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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