"So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America. I'll knock off at tea. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short.
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