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The men cursed Torode volubly, and regretted that he had not gone with Black Boy. And it was none but black looks that greeted him when, after standing a moment, he came on across the Coupée and joined the rest. "It is a misfortune," he said brusquely, as he came among us. "It is sheer murder and brutality," said Charles Vaudin roughly. "Guyabble!
"You can't get her through there! Ay-ee!" and he funnelled his hands to shout a warning across three miles of sea in the teeth of a westerly breeze. "Silly!" said the girl from the turf where she sat with her hands round her knees. "They can't hear you!" "Oh, guyabble!
Three times we nosed inch by inch into the swirling black waters, which leaped and spat and bit at us with fierce white fangs, and three times we were swept away down past Pierre au Norman, drooping over our oars like broken men. "Guyabble! This is no good!" gasped Uncle George, as we came whirling back the third time. "We must go round."
And, as we drew nearer, it was evident, from the talk among John Ozanne and his mates, that they could see more through their glasses than we could with our eyes. "Guyabble!" cried old Martin at last. "There's another ship hitched on to her far side. I can see her masts. Now, what's this? A privateer as like as no, and we'll have our bite yet, maybe."
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