CHAPTER XII. "Nothin'—nothin'," returned Blueskin; "only I thought—" "You saw the hangman, no doubt," said Jack. "Ja," replied the skipper. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. ” Lucy added, growing weary. ” An immense gulf seemed to open between father and daughter as he said these words. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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