A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. “This is not every day. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures.
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