He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. Though he never seen so much of Miss Mary as I did. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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