From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. "Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. Thank him, not me, man. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down?’ She considered him a moment, her head a little on one side. “What he had was altogether insufficient. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. Thanks. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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