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" "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. " Hastening to the Six Bells, Jack ordered some refreshment, and engaged a private room, where he remained till the afternoon absorbed in grief. Then he stood up and repeated it again. You do not believe me. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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