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"Ay, he's back," he returned, with a grunt that was half a growl; "arter three weeks breakin' o' liberty. I tell 'ee what, sir, them Frenchies is treecherous devils, an' not to be trusted the len'th of a lead line.
A fine fighter, but treecherous like em all.... Funny thing no one on deck only him. Swarmin with men too, I'll lay." The French skipper too was at the wheel: a dapper little personage, black-a-vised, with fierce moustachios and eye-tufts. He wore a huge tricorne, and vast tawdry epaulettes. "How do you, sair?" he called, all bows and smiles and teeth, as the two ships came within biscuit-toss.
"Ay, he's back," he returned, with a grunt that was half a growl; "arter three weeks breakin' o' liberty. I tell 'ee what, sir, them Frenchies is treecherous devils, an' not to be trusted the len'th of a lead line.
"Ay, he's back," he returned, with a grunt that was half a growl; "arter three weeks breakin' o' liberty. I tell 'ee what, sir, them Frenchies is treecherous devils, an' not to be trusted the len'th of a lead line.
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