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Updated: June 27, 2025
The black led the way to the captain's cabin, and there was a faint cry of delight as the boy sprang forward and let his gun drop against the locker, to grasp Doctor Kingsmead's extended hands. "Oh, doctor, doctor!" he cried. "At last! at last! But how thin and white you look." "Loss of blood, my lad. Ah, Jackum!"
Isaacs in Baker Street, but was supposed to have been played by the fair fingers of Lady Kingsmead's grandmother. The furniture and hangings, all new, belonged to Messrs. Bampton in Piccadilly, as did the carpets. The pictures, belonging to the entail, were paid for. Lady Kingsmead lay on a chaise-longue and played with a Persian kitten named Omar.
It soon became evident that Carey was going to develop no bad symptoms from the injury to his head, and that his sufferings were to be confined to the broken collar-bone, which, under Doctor Kingsmead's care, gave promise of a rapid knitting together. There was pain enough to bear, but the boy's bright elastic temperament was in his favour.
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