"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. "All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed up in a phrase. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open.
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