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Updated: June 11, 2025
My arms enfold ye...." He enveloped the India-rubber Man in a bear-like embrace. "Behold the prodigal returning! Steward, bring hither a fatted calf and the swizzle-stick. Put a cherry in it and a slice of lemon and eke crushed ice. My dear life!" He held the India-rubber Man at an arm's length. "Bunje, these are moments when strong men sob like little children. But let me introduce you."
"It's just because they haven't been ashore for weeks and months, and in spite of the Lieutenant for Physical Training och! No, Bunje, don't start scrapping it's too early in the morning, and we'll wake . . . those . . . poor devils Eugh! Poof! There! What did I tell you!"
Paint's inches thick on the bulkheads, and a shell in here would start fires all over the place. Bunje, if you want to write letters you'd better go somewhere else and do it." The Indiarubber Man thumped the blotting-paper on his freshly written sheets and looked up with his penholder between his teeth. "I've finished, Number One. Admit your hired bravoes."
Promise say: 'Sure-as-I'm-standing-here-I-won't-cry, or I'll call the guard!" "I I can't promise not to cry a tiny bit," faltered Betty, "but I promise to try not to cry much. And you will write and let me know when I can come North and be near you, won't you?" A sudden thought struck her. "Bunje, will they censor your letters? How awful! And mine too?
You're a nice person, Pills, to leave the organisation of a racing boat's crew to." He looked round the quarterdeck. "Where're all the others? Lazy hogs! Here we are with the sun half over the foreyard and the boat not even manned." The Surgeon eyed him severely. "You're none too smart on it yourself, Bunje. Where's Thorogood? Where's Number One? Where's Gerrard? Where's ah, now they're coming."
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