"His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. As you brew so must you drink.
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