"She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. " "We'll see that," replied Jonathan, dealing him another and more violent blow. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts.
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