“The conventions do not matter one little bit. Figg," replied Jack, smiling; "for, before I'm taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. E. "Ah! what is that?" he cried, pointing to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and which presented a frightful resemblance to a human face. "I say we, because Miss Rachel and I have struck up a match.
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