"Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. " "I tell 'ee what, saltwater," said Ben, "I'll lay you my fare—and that'll be two shillin'—I'm back in an hour. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table.
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