No fear o' that. " "I'm sorry. \" He looked crestfallen. We WERE thieves. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. " "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted.
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