But she veiled her feelings. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. She had come to the end of her resources. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. "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. I don’t want to bother you, of course. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth.
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