" "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. Melusine started back, blinking. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames.
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