"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily.
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