"Dreamed!" echoed the knight, with a ghastly smile. " "Where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships.
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