Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. At length, the body was brought towards him. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him.
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