He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. John said nothing. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. It was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. "Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed.
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