"Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. “Hey you,” he said affectionately. My heart cannot take it. Both Ruth and McClintock came down to the launch to wish him God-speed and good luck.
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