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He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. "I told you how it was, Sir James," said Austin, addressing the knight, who was preparing for his departure, "he attributes every misfortune that befals him to Mr. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. He's the only native I trust in these parts. Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England.

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