"Something more than whisky did that. ’ ‘Exactly so. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. It was enough. Pray, walk in. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him.
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