" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. Let's talk of this chap. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person.
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