She did not try to approach him. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. He did not speak for a moment. “And you?” “Same thing. ” His lips tightened, and he frowned with solemn resolution. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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