C. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. I had that coming. "How!" exclaimed Sheppard. .
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