As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Take my advice. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!" "Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan.
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