” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. The boat's sure to run foul o' the bridge; and if she 'scapes stavin' above, she'll be swamped to a sartainty below. ” On the inside she felt her muscles loosen with relief. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me.
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