" "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. Goodbye. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. His gaze remained steady on the old dame’s face, as he thought about it. Why not? Quite willing. That is very certain. .
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