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Updated: June 29, 2025
He's come, ain't he?" "That's no reason why you should come. Get down, you young dog!" "Sha'n't!" "You give's holt o' that whip, and I'll flick him down like I would a fly." "No, no; don't hurt him, Ike," I said, laughing. "What were you making that noise for, Shock?" "He calls that singing," cried Ike, spitting on the ground in his disgust. "He calls that singing.
But poor Ram Jennings preferred to stand nursing his injured arm, and watching his fellow ramming away with his pike, as if loading a gun, till suddenly it was jerked out of his hand, and drawn through the wall. "Look at that," he growled. "Here, give's hold of another." But Sir Edward ordered him back. "It's of no use, my lad," he cried; "come away."
Here, give's a hand, Master Scar. I must get up." The poor fellow made an effort, then sank back with a groan. "Pitchforks and skewers!" he muttered. "Didn't that go through one." "Lie still, Nat." "Needn't be afraid, Master Scar," groaned the poor fellow, with a comical look in his young master's face. "I don't think I shall get up yet." "No; lie still.
I staggered in the direction in which I was pushed, and dropped on to a thwart, still half-stunned and confused, but sensible enough to understand the words uttered about me, and to see the dull yellow light of the lanterns held by the gangway lighting up a number of drink-flushed faces. "I don't want chucking down, I tell you," growled Bob Hampton. "Give's a hold of a rope and I'll drop down."
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