‘I’m a soldier, missie. Nothing else matters. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. 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. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison.
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