Her fingers rested upon his. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. ” “Yes,” said his prospective fellow-sailor, “that’s very pretty.
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