"You don't eat," continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound.
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