"'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. "He must have gone this way," muttered Blueskin. Then he put the paper by. I’m starving. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner.
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