One doesn’t realize that even the sort of civilization one has at Morningside Park is held together with difficulty. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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