It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. I’m damaged goods. Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us.
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