"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. ‘Me and the butler didn’t see eye to eye. We dine at seven-thirty. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them.
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