"Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her. "You shall not go, adorable girl," cried Kneebone, catching her in his arms, "till you have answered me. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. "I feel guilty, going away and leaving that ignorant child; but our days have been so planned that we dare not change the schedule. ’ His features relaxed again and he grinned. For I still love her mother. I tried it myself, Sir.
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