" "Oh, Jack!" cried his mother, falling upon his neck, and covering him with kisses. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar.
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