‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. That is not reasonable. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. Down in my part of the world it's all a man has to go by. And from then on we'll see them, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife.
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