The Ragged Edge. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. ‘I’m on your side. "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. ” He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal statement.
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