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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Not for a thousand loives," groaned the Irishman. "Howly saints, fwhat is old Clootie after me for? Is it for atin' that little taste o' ham last Friday? Holy Mary, save me; there he is again!" "Where, you flannel-mouthed Mick?" asked Shorty savagely. "Where do you see the devil?" "There! There! That white thing.
It won't hurt him now; he can do it. Oh, well. Here now, Mickey, don't you get sassy. One run more this afternoon. The Dogs run two or three times a day; why not the Jack?" "They're not shtakin' thayre loives, sor." "Oh, you get out."
Longshores-men, the scum of London, who had worked all their lives for half a pound a week, gaped at the idea of two hundred thousand dollars. Somebody repeated the sum hoarsely. Suddenly they raised an uproar. "We'll take 'er, sir!" "We'll tow th' dock, sor!" "We weel tow zee dock to zee moon for zat!" "Sphend our loives and die rich min!"
Why didn't say so afore? Oi will hoide thee when oi comes back rarely! Polly, do thou run into Gardiner's, and Hoskings', and Burt's; tell 'em to cotch up a stick and to roon for their loives across t' moor toward t' mill. And do thou, Jarge, roon into Sykes' and Wilmot's and tell 'em the same; and be quick if thou would save thy skin. Tell 'em t' maister be loike to be attacked."
"Faith, I belaive ye've ez many loives ez a cat," cried Mick, making little, in proper sailor fashion, of my peril; and then, dropping his voice so that the others shouldn't hear him, he added, "Whisht, Tom faith it's thet nasty baste `Ugly' thet done it; an', sure, he's done it a-purpos!"
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