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Wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!" "I see,—persons of rank!" Mr. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas.
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