‘Now then,’ said the captain sternly, ‘I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. " "And what should a young man like this one have to forget?" Prudence demanded to know. "I guessed as much. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him.
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