From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm.
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