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Updated: May 4, 2025
That night the sun set yellow and stormy, and by morning the cobble-stones of Rye were wet and dripping with storm-showers, and a swell was beginning to lap and sob against the harbour walls. The following days passed in terrible suspense for all left behind at Rye.
Great black hills filled up the space and flowed on, leaving room for others equally big and equally black. The sides of these big hills were laced with lines of little jumping hillocks, and over all the loud wind swept, shearing off tearing storm-showers of spray. An ugly three hundred yards! "Well, how is it now, skipper?" "Neck or nothing, sir. You can stop here if you like." "Oh, no! Mr.
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