Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love.
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