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Updated: May 14, 2025
I've seen bales of it shipped out of this harbour, an' it looks like dried seaweed, an' smells like some serrupy flower you'd hate to have around. Lorson just loves it to death, and I guess it needs to be a good trade that sets him lovin'. But he keeps his face closed. Same as the feller that calls himself Brand. Oh, yes, Lorson's the kind of oyster you couldn't hammer open with a haf ton maul."
"I never ast to git put up ther'," he heard the sick man saying; "never ast, an' didn't want. It was her doin's, an' I tell you fellers right here she's jest thet serrupy an' good as don't matter. I'd 'a' rotted down here wi' flies an' the heat for all they'd 'a' cared. That blind son of a 'ud 'a' jest laffed ef I'd handed over, an' Jake say, we'll level our score one day, sure.
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