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"Who's D-D-Dave Corson?" asked the doctor. "Quaker preacher. Young feller 'bout twenty years old." "Can he t-t-talk?" "Talk! He kin talk a mule into a trottin' hoss in less'n three minutes." "He's my man!" exclaimed the doctor, at which the crowd laughed again.
Moreover, the two very wide-awake midshipmen could hear him asking questions in the rooms further along the "deck." "He's questioning each man," whispered Dave. "Of course," nodded Dan gloomily. "It'll be our turn soon." "D-D-Dave!" "What?" "I -I'm feeling ill -or I'm going to." "Don't have cold feet, old fellow. Take your dose like a man -if you have to."
They get away from us here, but if eternity is as long as they s-s-say it is, I'll find D-D-Dave Corson if it t-t-takes the whole of it, and when I f-f-find him " he paused again, gasping and strangling.
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