"Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. " With this, he mounted his steed and rode off. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. I have heard of you from my husband. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. "But there's nothing more to see in Canton.
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