" "Come, come, don't take on thus, Captain," cried Blueskin, rising and walking towards him. His tongue was hot. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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