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It was Friday morning; might reach the Point Saturday night, with a good wind ... He roused his housekeeper, gave all needful instructions, prepared his little medicine-chest; and long before the first rose-gold fire of day had flashed to the city spires, he was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in the tiny cabin of a fishing-sloop.
The place was warm and smelled, like the cabin of some fishing-sloop, of sea-salt and tar. It did not take me long to get out of my clothes. When the last of them lay around my heels I received a rubbing down with a coarse sailor's shirt, that sent the blood back where it belonged. "Allons! Into bed at once!" insisted the curé. "You'll find those army blankets dry."
"That's the man. Has he been drowned?" "His fishing-sloop was sunk," said the porpoises "for we saw it lying on the bottom of the sea. But there was nobody inside it, because we went and looked." "His little nephew is on the ship with me here," said the Doctor. "And he is terribly afraid that the pirates threw his uncle into the sea.
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