" "Stand off, Sir!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards. H’m. 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. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. “Um, I really shouldn’t tell you this, but he said.
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