" A deep indignant groan followed. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. Very romantic and all that. I had two slices. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. There were swift actions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut a slack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. "Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. They had cried a little, both.
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