You cannot arrest yourself. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. He was an imaginative young man. It needs cultivating, I think. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links.
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