He called a waiter. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. Laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off.
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