"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. But I shall take care of Ruth, work for her and fight for her. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. "You shall never behold me alive.
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