"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. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. He continued thoughtfully. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him.
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