I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. Having read the three first verses of the impressive service appointed for the burial of the dead, he returned to the church, whither the coffin was carried through the south-western door, and placed in the centre of the aisle—Mr. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel.
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