"Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident. Yours?" The stranger hesitated. "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin. Spurlock grew cold.
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