Drink the toast, Jack. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. “Shit happens, John. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all.
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